


A New Shadow

by Wise_Wayward



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Cults, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Happy Ending?, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past mpreg, Post-Movie(s), Post-RotK, Temporary Physical Disability, Violence, trouble in Gondor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wise_Wayward/pseuds/Wise_Wayward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War of the Ring, Aragorn is crowned King of Gondor with Legolas as his Consort. Seven years in what has so far been a peaceful reign, suddenly shifts when trouble begins to brew and a new shadow threatens to shroud Middle Earth in darkness. Relationships are tested and leadership is questioned as Aragorn and Legolas are thrown into a mission to rescue their son from the clutches of evil and restore order to a growing chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm ten years too late, but I've recently fallen in love with the Aragorn/Legolas pairing and needed more!! This story is actually a combination of my idea for a novel I'm working on and wanted to test-run in fic form and from the very short sequel J.R.R. Tolkein started for Lord of the Rings titled, you guessed it, A New Shadow! I hope you enjoy!!

As the morning light began to stream through the curtains in the Royal Bedchamber, the King of Gondor and Anor did little to suppress his groan. His troubled mind wanted nothing more than a few extra hours of rest, especially after the eventful week he had just had. Seven years had passed since he was crowned and he was pleased to discover that despite his initial reluctance, ruling came natural to him. Of course it has never been easy; being responsible for an entire kingdom and its people is no small burden, but it is one he has managed to bear wisely, justly, and compassionately so far. By defeating Sauron and claiming his right to the throne, he was able to bring a long-awaited peace to the land….or so he thought. As of late, for reasons he knew not, that peace was being disturbed. In the past month alone, more robberies, altercations, and even murders have taken place in Gondor than at any other point in his reign.  The cells were currently filled with criminals still awaiting his judgment, more guards had been placed within the streets and the King’s House, all the while Aragorn, his Consort and his Council are trying to come up with a means for restoring order. As can be imagined, sleep has been eluding him on most nights. If not for his husband, he probably wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all.

Speaking of which, Aragorn was disappointed by the absence of another body against his own. The King of Men raised his arms in a stretch before turning on his side to look at his Consort. The elf lay on the far opposite side of the large bed, his pale back facing the man and long silky hair strewn about his pillow in wonderful disarray. Aragorn stared at the steady rise and fall of his husband’s ribs, indicating that the blond was still lost in sleep. It had been odd at first, watching the elf sleep. Elves don't need to sleep like humans do; but then again, Legolas was not the typical elf. He chose a mortal life in order to be with Aragorn - a choice the man did not wish for him to make but he did so nonetheless- and as such, he now required sleep. During the quest, the elf hardly ever rested. On a few occasions, Aragorn watched as he had slipped into reverie, his eyes glazing over as he took the time to restore the strength in his body and mind. For someone who was not familiar with the ways of the elves, it would've been a strange sight indeed. However, the sight had the opposite effect on Aragorn - it comforted him. Seeing his love at peace had offered him his own peace, especially during the times of turmoil and uncertainty that they had faced during the War of the Ring. But now, since giving up his immortality, the elf slept every night next to his husband. The fatigue had troubled him at first because it was a sensation he had rarely experienced in his long life. He tried fighting it until Aragorn convinced him that it was to be expected, and when he finally closed his eyes, it was Aragorn who became unsettled. Seeing his eyes closed in sleep only reminded him that one day, they would be closed in death.

The thought of losing Legolas brought Aragorn back to the present, and slowly, he scooted his way to the middle of the bed before reaching out to wrap his arms around his husband's waist, one hand gliding up to a smooth chest, and pulling him close. Legolas hummed at the movement and placed a hand on top of Aragorn’s, but didn't open his eyes. When the elf's back was pressed firmly up against the man's chest, Aragorn gave him a quick squeeze and nuzzled the hair at his neck.

"Good morning, _meleth_ ," the king whispered into a pointed ear, sending a shiver down the blonde’s side.

Legolas let out a quiet yawn before turning in the man's arms so that he could face him. When blue eyes met grey, both smiled warmly and the elf lifted his head to give his husband a chaste kiss on the mouth. 

"Good morning to you too, _herven_ ," Legolas said as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

Aragorn placed a light kiss on the elf's forehead while gently stroking the smooth planes of his back. Legolas gave a contented sigh and then returned the embrace, closing his eyes once more and laying his head on his husband's broad chest.

"Let us stay like this for the rest of the day," the man suggested, feeling the elf smile in response.

"You know we cannot," Legolas chided, "or else we'll have a very disappointed son on our hands."

At the mention of their son, Aragorn moved his hand from the elf's back down to his stomach and traced the thin scar from which their child had been brought into this world. Aragorn remembered that day all too well. Their son had been a blessing from the Valar; a precious gift given in gratitude for saving the free peoples of middle earth. After the initial shock of the pregnancy, came the joy, then after the joy, came fear. As Legolas's belly begun to swell, it suddenly hit Aragorn that the child would have to be cut out of his husband's body. He was afraid Legolas would not survive the surgery, or worse - that he'd have to choose between his spouse and his child. It seems loosing Legolas has always been his greatest fear. Luckily, his fears did not come to pass. Legolas was surrounded by capable elven healers, as well as the healing hands of his king, and made a quick recovery. Once he was assured his husband was well and alive, the joy that had left the man was returned. Their son, Eldarion, was their greatest source of pride and happiness. He was an exceedingly curious boy; his wide blue eyes always filled with wonder. He possessed a kindness more strong and pure than anyone Aragorn had ever known. At times, he exerted a wisdom that far surpassed his youth, spouting off phrases or advice that left his elders stunned. But best of all, he was affectionate. Not a day went by without him telling his parents he loved them and showering them with hugs and kisses. Neither of them could imagine a life without their precious five year old in it. He was well worth, or perhaps even more so, all the late nights, spit-ups and soiled cloths they had to endure. That was why Aragorn had decided earlier in the week to indulge the boy.

 For his safety, his parents never allowed him outside the city walls, but the elf in him had been longing to explore the lands beyond the city. With some convincing from Legolas, Aragorn decided the three of them would take a short camping trip in the nearby forests of South Ithilien.  They would be traveling alone, as a family, despite the protests of their guards and Council. Aragorn trusted in his own abilities, as well as his husband’s, to protect themselves should the need arise. After all, they had fought in and survived the greatest war Middle Earth had ever witnessed. In his place, Faramir, his most trusted friend, steward and advisor, would be in charge. All plans were in order, provisions mostly packed, and the trio was set to leave…today.

“I had almost forgotten,” the king grumbled, resting his forehead against the elf’s.

Hearing the hint of complaint in his husband’s voice, Legolas drew his head back to give the man a stern look.

“Don’t be that way,” he warned, “You promised him. Besides, this will prove to be a nice reprieve that the both of us are very much in need of.”

“ _Amin hiraetha_ ,” Aragorn sighed, “I’m afraid I’ve grown too accustomed to soft beds. I won’t deny I dread the thought of sleeping on a cold, hard ground again.”

Legolas laughed at the declaration, the sound of it bringing a smile to the king’s face as well.

“Becoming spoiled, are we, _Ranger_?” the elf teased.

“No more than you, elf!” the man quipped, once again capturing his husband in a tight embrace and bringing their lips together.

"Ada! Papa!"

The couple separated at the sound of their son's voice and then turned to watch the unruly mass of brown curls that struggled to climb up the sheets. They both chuckled when the boy made it on the bed, falling face-forward with his little hands clenched tightly in the sheets. When he righted himself, his cheeks were rosy from the effort and he flashed his parents a toothy grin before clambering over to join the pair. The small boy jumped into the space between the two and wrapped his tiny arms around the neck of his elven father, giggling all the while.

"Careful, _ion-nin_ ," Legolas chided as he cradled Eldarion to his chest.

When Legolas let go, the boy then flung himself around Aragorn's neck, causing the man to let out a surprised "Ooof!"

"Eldarion," Aragorn began, "What did your Ada just tell you?"

The boy pulled away, having the decency to look slightly guilty.

"Sorry, Ada. Sorry, Papa," he apologized, "I'm just really happy to see you!"

The elf shook his head fondly.

"Sweet boy, you see us every day."

"I know! But today’s a special day!" he exclaimed as he looked at his parents expectantly.

There was a twinkle in Aragorn’s eyes as he turned to his husband.

“What could he possibly be speaking of, Legolas?” he asked.

“Hhmm,” Legolas goaded, “I’m not sure, _meleth_. It’s certainly not his birthday. I distinctly remember that was three months ago.”

When the pair pretended to be looking thoughtful, Eldarion started to giggle.

“No, silly! We’re going camping!”

“Oh?” Aragorn teased, “Who said?”

“You said, Papa!” the boy replied, plopping down into the man’s lap and poking him in the chest.

“Ah, yes,” said the king while ruffling his son’s hair affectionately, “Now I remember!”

“Well,” began Legolas as he stepped out of bed, “If that’s the case, then we had best be getting ready! Come, _ion_. Let’s get you dressed.”  

Aragorn smiled as the child scampered across the bed and lept into his husband’s outstretched arms. He watched as the pair made their way into the adjoining room in which their son stayed, the boy chattering excitedly while the elf murmured his agreements. Reluctantly, the king, too, got up. He sifted through the garments in his wardrobe, pulling out a simple tunic and trousers before grabbing his traveling cloak. He ran his fingers over the elven broach that he had kept all these years. He recalled all the dangers and trials he had faced the last time he had worn it. As he heard his husband and son laughing in the next room, he hoped he wouldn’t have to face such things again.  

* * *

 

Moric hastened to the tavern on the lower streets of Gondor, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran. When he arrived, he nodded to the guards that had recently been posted outside and made his way in. He scanned the room; as expected, there were not a lot of patrons this early in the day. Needless to say, he quickly found who he was looking for.

"Where is she?" he asked the red-haired man leaning against the wall.

 "Down there," he jerked his head towards the small hallway just passed the bar, "Last on the left."

Moric brushed passed the man and stopped in front of the specified room before giving the door three light knocks.

"You may enter," called a soft voice from within.

Stepping through the threshold, he noticed Hadria standing in the center of the room, gazing intently out of the window.

"You called for me, my lady?" he asked as he approached her from behind.

"I did," she answered, turning to face him, "I have had another vision."

His eyes widened at the admission.

"What have you seen?" he questioned eagerly.

She closed her eyes, replaying the images in her mind. _Fire. Death. Darkness. Hope._

"He is not gone," she revealed, "A part of him still lingers. A new shadow is emerging, buying its time before covering the world with its darkness. If we are to act, we must do so very soon. Before _they_ do."

When she opened her eyes, she found Moric was watching her solemnly. He let out a sigh before nodding, determination sweeping over his features.

"What do we need?"

She turned her gaze back towards the window, eying the forests beyond.

"The boy."

* * *

 

“Slow down, son,” scolded Aragorn, “You’re making a mess! I promise you, the forests aren’t going anywhere.”  

“Leave him be, Aragorn,” retorted Legolas as he wiped the jam off of his son’s face, “He’s excited is all. Besides,” he continued, gathering some jam on his finger and smearing it on his husband’s nose, “a little jam never hurt anyone.”

The king glared halfheartedly at his laughing spouse and son while wiping the mess off of his own face.

“Ganging up on me, are we?” Aragorn accused, scooping a blob of jam into his own hand and aiming it at the elf, “Well, we’ll just see about that…”

Legolas’s eyes widened in realization, “Don’t - ”

“Your Majesty?”

The family froze as Faramir strode into the dining hall, eyebrows raised in amusement as he took in the scene of his king holding a handful of jam in the air.

Aragorn cleared his throat while Legolas smirked in triumph.

“Faramir,” greeted the man, grabbing the nearest cloth and wiping his hand clean, “What can I do for you?”

Faramir approached the table at which the trio was seated and bowed his head.

“I just came to inform you that your weapons have been retrieved from the armory as requested and your packs have been prepared. They’ll be in your rooms whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you, Faramir,” said Aragorn, “We’ll be leaving as soon as we are finished here.”

“Very well. Would you like me to gather you an escort to the gates of the city?”

“No. The fewer people who know of our absence, the better.”

“A wise decision,” agreed the steward, “I bid you all a safe trip. I assure you everything in Minas Tirith will stay in order while you are away.”

“Thank you, Faramir,” said Legolas.

With a final nod, Faramir began walking back the way he had come until he was forced to a halt by something wrapping around his legs. He looked down to see Eldarion staring up at him, his little arms wrapped firmly around the man’s calves.

“I’ll miss you, Faramir,” confessed the boy.

The steward smiled at the child he had grown so fond of and patted the top of his head.

“I’ll miss you too, little prince. Have fun. And look after those two,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the man and elf.

“I will!” giggled the boy before releasing the man and running back to his seat.

Faramir shared a knowing smile with the royal couple before exiting the hall and heading for the council room.  

* * *

 

As the royal family made their way back inside their rooms, they were pleased to see their packs waiting for them on the bed as promised. They had decided not to bring too much, only the essentials - bedrolls, a spare set of clothing, small cooking utensils, flint, some food, and of course, their weapons. Once everything was strapped in place, they headed towards the door before Eldarion stopped them.

"I almost forgot!"

The boy ran into his rooms, emerging a few minutes later with the wooden dagger he had received for his birthday, tucking the object safely in his belt. Pleased with himself, he returned to his spot between his fathers and grabbed each of their hands.

"Okay, I'm ready now!

"Then let's be off!" said Legolas, leading the trio out of the door.

The walk out to the citadel took longer than they had expected. Eldarion insisted that he couldn't leave without telling his nursemaid, Tilly, goodbye. Afterwards, the boy felt the need to bid farewell to every servant they came across. Patient as ever, Aragorn and Legolas watched the exchanges fondly, allotting the boy however much time he needed. When at last they reached the citadel they were approached by Ronan, Captain of the Guard.

"Your Majesties, young prince," he greeted, "Lord Faramir informed me that you had no desire for an escort to the gates. Nonetheless, I've ordered the guards that are stationed there to send word once you've reached it. It would put my mind at ease knowing you have made it through the city safely."

The king grimaced at that last statement. Not that he wasn't grateful for the concern, but the fact that his safety and that of his family's was not guaranteed within his own city unsettled him a bit.

"You have our thanks, Ronan," Aragorn replied, clapping the other man on the shoulder.

Maneuvering through the city was surprisingly easy. As well as being necessary for their trips, the cloaks were also intended to be a disguise. And while being out of royal garb did help to detract attention, they didn't go completely unnoticed. After all, the number of man-elf pairings with a child was nonexistent within the city aside from the royal family. Whenever they were recognized, the pair would nod and smile graciously and continue on their way.

As he was with most things, Eldarion was completely fascinated by the city. His mouth was agape as he took in the new sights. If he was like this now, Legolas couldn't wait to see his reaction to the wilds. However, as they made their way down to the lower levels, the streets became less and less busy. Several businesses appeared to be closed, there were quite a few homes that had boarded up their windows, and on the rare occasion that someone was out and about, they refused to make any eye contact. Legolas felt very uneasy as his eyes darted about scanning for any sign of the danger that he felt was near.

"Papa? Ada?" Eldarion asked, "Where is everybody?"

The man and elf locked gazes and Legolas could see that his husband was having concerns similar to his own.

"They're probably all in their homes, son. Perhaps they haven't a reason to be out today," Aragorn answered, his voice not conveying his fears for the sake of his child. 

As they continued along, Legolas couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He looked to either side, peering down the various streets before coming to the conclusion that he was just being paranoid. For reassurance, he turned to glance behind them and nearly gasped at what he saw. A large man with red hair and a grey cloak was standing in the middle of the street, sword drawn. When the elf spotted him, he smirked before turning and running down a nearby alley.

Legolas picked up his son, positioning the boy on his hip and moved closer to Aragorn. The man gave his husband a questioning look when he noticed fear in the other's eyes. He wrapped his arm around the elf's shoulders reassuringly.

"What is wrong?"

As Legolas made to answer, he was interrupted by a woman's cry,

"Thief!! That man is a thief! Stop him!"

They turned in the direction of the voice to see an older woman pointing frantically at a figure that was fleeing in the distance.

Aragorn reached for his sword, fully intending to chase after the accused criminal but was stopped by a hand grabbing his wrist.

"The guards will handle it," Legolas stated.

Sure enough, as they faced back in the direction they were heading, a small group of four guards were hurrying towards them. The trio stepped off to the side to let the troop pass and stared after them. Eldarion, who had buried his face in the elf's neck at the commotion, raised his head up, eyes shining with uncertainty.

"Ada, what's happening? I want to get out of here," he whined.

Legolas couldn't agree more with his son's wishes. He, too, wanted to get out of these streets before the boy had to witness any more trouble or worse, be involved in it. The elf gently pressed Eldarion's head back down to his shoulder.

"It's nothing to worry about _ion-nin_ ," he assured, "Pretty soon we'll be under an open sky, chasing the wind and talking to the trees."

The boy gasped and lifted his head once more, "The trees can talk, Ada?"

"Oh yes," answered the elf, tapping his son on the nose, "If you know how to listen."

"What do they say?"

Aragorn felt relieved as his husband distracted their son with talk of trees. To be truthful, he welcomed the distraction as well. He hadn't realized the extent of the discontent within his very city. Tension hung in the air like a drop of dew on a blade of grass, growing heavier and heavier until it would eventually fall and burst into chaos. He began to question yet again whether or not he should really be leaving, even if only for a brief period of time. He didn't voice these concerns, though. He knew what Legolas would say; he had promised his son and he never breaks a promise. The more he thought about it, the more this trip seemed beneficial. He would have a chance to wind down, enjoy his family, and clear his thoughts so that he could return well-rested, mind restored and efficiently address the maladies so obviously plaguing his people.

By the time the family reached the Gate, they all felt a little more at ease and were anxious to leave the city behind them. However, when Aragorn noticed that only two guards were positioned at the gate, he once more grew worrisome. The entrance to the city was always more heavily guarded than this. Remembering the Captain’s words, Aragorn approached a guard at the gate who bowed as he drew near.

“My Lord.”

“Where are the rest of the guards?” demanded the king.

“A fight broke out at a tavern down the street so we sent some of our men to handle it,” the guard replied, “Another troop is searching for a pair of robbers who broke into a family home this morning and made off with a young boy.”

Aragorn ran a weary down his face at the news while Legolas hugged Eldarion all the tighter.

“Very well. Please report to your Captain and inform him that the princes and I have made it safely through the city,” ordered the king.

“Right away, my Lord.”

With another bow, the guard turned and began his trek up to the citadel. Motioning to Legolas to wait for a moment, Aragorn walked up to another guard who was surprised when the king grasped his shoulder and leaned in close.

“I want you to make note of anyone who leaves and enters the city during my absence. If we are not back in one week, assume the worst and send a scouting party. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the guard straightened immediately, wanting to prove to his king that he would take his assignment seriously.

“Thank you. And as soon as the other troops return, tell them that I want no less than a dozen guards at the gate at all times.”

With a meaningful look and a final pat on the shoulder, the man returned to his family, one of which was eying him curiously.

“What did you tell him?” asked Legolas.

“I was just taking some precautions,” answered the man as he took his son from the elf’s arms and placed him on his shoulders before walking through the gate of the city. Legolas looked after his husband, annoyed and confused at the vague answer he had received until he willed his legs to move and catch up with his family.

* * *

 

A few hours had passed since the royal family’s departure from the city. Dyllon had informed his Captain of their safe parting, as instructed, before returning to his post at the gate. He sighed when he saw the rest of his fellow guards had not returned from their tasks. The only guard at the gate was Verrill who nodded at his arrival.

“The king wants there to be a dozen guards here while he is away. We need to inform Ronan when we change stations tonight.”

“Indeed. Any disturbances since I left?”

“None. Though our brothers in arms seem to be having a trying time since they have failed to return.”

“My thoughts exactly!” boomed a voice off to the side, the accent heavy.

The two guards turned to find large, cloaked man approaching them slowly. Arrogance exuded from his gait and he examined his nails nonchalantly. The guards straightened their posture and grasped the hilt of their swords as the stranger drew closer, hood still up.

“Reveal yourself and state your business,” ordered Verrill.

The man huffed, “My business is my own. Why should I have to tell you?”

“It’s the king’s orders,” Verrill replied, unsheathing his sword.

They could see the man smirk from under his hood before he drew back and spat at the guards’ feet.

“That’s what I think about King Elessar and his orders,” hissed the man.

“Hold your tongue!” instructed Dyllon, now unsheathing his own weapon, “Or we’ll be forced to arrest you for your treacherous words!

The man began to laugh, a low, guttural sound that caused his shoulders to shake.

“Who will apprehend me?” he jeered, “You two? No, no. It’ll take more than that.”

“Nonsense! You’re outnumbered,” exclaimed Verrill.

The man grinned and as if on cue, five more men stepped out of the shadows and onto the street. The two guards exchanged a troubled glance.

“I brought company!” announced the man, throwing his arms in the air, “You see, I expected a lot more guards with all the chaos happenin’ recently. What sort a king leaves his gates poorly defended while he sneaks away like a thief in the night?”

“Silence!” shouted Dyllon, angered by the traitorous words seeping from the man’s mouth.

The man laughed again, this time joined by his companions who had begun to spread out and form a circle around the pair of guards.

“I’m afraid, my dear fellows” began the man as he pulled out a sword of his own, “That it’s you two who will soon find yourselves silent. Eternally.”

The guards eyes’ widened and they soon found themselves descended upon by the armed vagrants.

The struggle was brief, though not easy. The guards managed to dispose of two men before they were disarmed and forced to kneel. Their helmets were removed and knives placed to their throats as the cloaked man stood before them.

“You want to know my business?” he teased, crouching in front of the glaring guards, “I’m going to give  
Gondor the king it deserves.”

With an affirming glance at his companions, the knives were dragged across the guards’ throats. He watched as blood bubbled out of the slits and panicked eyes lost their focus.

Standing up, the cloaked man addressed his cohorts.

“So it has begun. Let us leave before the others return.”

With that, the men scurried through the gate and made for the wilds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Sorry if I seem to focus a lot on OCs. They're necessary to start the action then I promise a heavier focus on our beloved characters! Classes start back for me tomorrow - so I'm not yet sure how it will affect my writing schedule! But without further ado, here's chapter 2! Hope you enjoy!!

“Keep up, Eldarion!” Legolas called over his shoulder as the trio trudged up a hill.

Aragorn glanced back to find his son trying his best to catch a butterfly. It was almost difficult to spot the child as his head barely peeked over the tall grass. He huffed at his father’s call and watched in disappointment as the creature flew away. Chuckling, the man paused and held out his hand as the boy wiped the hair out of his eyes and hurried to join his parents. Legolas smiled when he felt a tiny hand find its way into his own and peered down at the child.

“Are we almost there, Ada?” he asked excitedly, eyes alight with hope.

The elf stared straight ahead, squinting in a way that told Aragorn he was utilizing his superior elven sight to determine the distance between their current location and the river.

“We’re very close, _ion-nin_ ,” Legolas answered, “We’ll reach the Anduin before sunset.”

Aragorn looked up to see the sun still sitting high in the sky. It was already late in the afternoon. If they were to reach the river before sunset then they should have no more than an hour left to walk. His suspicions were confirmed as the family reached the top of the hill and paused to admire the view. Below them was a green field of clover. The grass swayed with every burst of wind, creating gentle waves in a sea of grass. Up ahead began a long stretch of lush forest, the river lying somewhere within. They had decided that they would make camp up from the bank, nestled between the waterway and the trees. The more he thought about preparing camp with his son, the more excited he became. He hadn’t done this in so long, but he still knew what to do and how to do it. He was looking forward to teaching Eldarion all he knew; let him experience first-hand what life had once been like for his Papa and Ada.

He turned his gaze to Legolas to find that the other had his eyes shut. The elf smiled as a gust of wind lifted his hair off of his shoulders and he took in a long, deep breath. He looked serene, at peace. A twinge of guilt swept over the man at the sight. It was nice to see his husband out in the wilds. After all, he was a wood elf. His very essence thrived on being amongst the meadows and the trees, feeling their energy, hearing their songs. He didn’t have that in Minas Tirith. Instead, he was indefinitely surrounded by stone. Legolas had never complained to Aragorn, of course he wouldn’t. But, the man could tell that the elf sometimes felt out of his element in the city of men. It amounted to one more thing Legolas had sacrificed for Aragorn’s love and the man regretted that he hadn’t taken Legolas out on excursions like this one more often. Perhaps that was why the elf had been so adamant about taking this trip in the first place; not just for his son’s sake, but for his own.

As if sensing his thoughts, Legolas opened his eyes to find the man looking at him with an expression on his face that he couldn’t quite read. He smiled at him; a warm smile that eased the king’s mind and lifted his spirits.

Still looking at his husband, Legolas spoke, “Eldarion? Have I ever told you how slow of a runner your Papa is?”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused, as his son hid a giggle behind his hands and looked up at his father.

“No,” he answered, “You haven’t!”

“I haven’t?” asked Legolas, his tone playful, “Well how about I just show you!”

Before Aragorn could register what was happening, Legolas had lifted the boy onto his shoulders and took off down the hill. Laughing, the man accepted the unspoken challenge and took off after them. To be fair, Aragorn was a fit man. His ability to run fast and for long periods of time exceeded that of most men, but Legolas was no man. As an elf, he was much lighter on his feet and as swift as the wind.

“Hurry, Ada!” the boy squealed as he looked behind him, “Papa’s catching up!”

The boy’s shriek only drove both males all the faster. The chase exhilarated them both, allowing them to release the tension that had built up over the last few months and run away, if only for a moment, from the problems that weighed heavily on their minds. This time, Legolas looked back at his husband and flashed a mischievous grin when he noticed the man’s labored breathing.

“First to the tree line wins!” he announced.

To Aragorn’s surprise, and disappointment, the elf ran even faster, causing the man to lose the distance he had gained on the pair. Growling, he willed himself to pick up the pace. Before too long, he was back on the elf’s heels. Seeing how close the man was behind them and how close they were to the trees in front of them, Legolas plucked his son off of his shoulder and planted him on the ground.

“Go, Eldarion!” he encouraged, “Run!”

Screeching in delight, the boy ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. When he was a mere arm’s length away from the elf, Aragorn dove and caught his husband about the waist. Legolas yelped as the pair fell to the ground, the man turning so that he landed with the elf on top of him. Both dissolved into a fit of laughter as they fought to catch their breath. Up ahead, they heard their son shouting in triumph.

“I made it! I won! I won!”

Legolas shook his head fondly as he peered down at his disheveled husband. The man brought up his hand to tuck a stray hair behind the elf’s ear.

“Don’t ever try to run away from me, elf,” he said, half teasing, half serious, “I won’t let you.”

“Don’t worry,” Legolas answered, running his fingernails across the man’s stubbly jaw, “I never intend to.”

Of course Aragorn never doubted his husband’s loyalty, but it still lightened his heart to hear him profess it. Holding the back of his head, the man gently brought the elf down for a kiss. The kiss was short-lived, however, as their son soon pounced on his Ada’s back and peeked over the elf’s shoulder to look down at Aragorn.

“You came in last, Papa! Ada was right,” the boy gloated, causing Legolas to smirk.

“That race was hardly fair,” Aragorn defended as he rose up on his elbows, “Your Ada had a head start.”

Eldarion seemed to ponder those words as the elf sat back and drew the boy in his lap before looking up at the blond and exclaiming, “He’s right, Ada! You cheated!”

Legolas stared at his husband in indignation while the man laughed.

“Look what you’ve done, Aragorn. Turned my own son against me.”

“You can’t fault the boy for stating facts, _melamin_ ,” the man answered as he stood and helped the elf on his feet.

“I guess this means a rematch is in order,” Legolas suggested.

“Indeed,” agreed the king, “We’ll set up a time and date, make it official.”

“I’ll be the judge!” volunteered the child, raising a hand in the air and waving it enthusiastically.

“And so you shall!” Aragorn said as he picked the boy up and spun him around once, “But what do you say to our continuing our way into the wood, hm?”

As if suddenly remembering where they were, the boy gasped and squirmed to be put down. When his feet touched the earth, he sprinted towards the trees, shouting over the wind, “Come on, Papa! Come on, Ada!”

Joining hands, the couple shared an amused glance before following their son into the thicket of trees. When the pair breached the forest, they found Eldarion with his eyes closed and tiny palms pressed up against the trunk of a large tree. From its size alone, it was apparent that the tree was very old; a witness to many events in its long life. They watched as the boy suddenly opened his eyes in astonishment and gazed up along the length of the tree.

“I can hear them!” he exclaimed as he turned to his fathers.

“What do they say?” Aragorn asked, pleased that his son’s elfish abilities were not hindered by his mannish blood.

 “They are welcoming us,” the boy answered as he wrapped his arms around the tree, “Can you hear them, Ada?”

“I can,” the elf answered while looking up at the many branches that blocked the view of the sky, “They also offer their protection.”

“Let us hope that we won’t need it,” Aragorn replied grimly before tugging on his husband’s hand and leading his family deeper within the forest.

* * *

 

The gate to Minas Tirith was surrounded by a crowd of disturbed onlookers. Men shook their heads in disbelief, others were shouting in outrage. Women held a hand over their mouths in shock and shielded the eyes of the children. Ever since a passerby spotted the dead bodies of the two guards just under an hour ago, people flocked to the scene to see it for themselves.

“Out of the way! Move aside!”

Armored guards worked their way through the crowd, people hastily moving aside to provide a clear pathway. As they came upon the crime scene, an officer of higher rank stepped forward and knelt beside the bodies. His attention was automatically drawn to their cut throats and he bowed his head in sympathy. No longer able to bear the weight of their lifeless stares, the officer reached out a hand and closed the eyes of each of his fallen comrades. At this point, he was used to death. He fought in the War of the Ring; he’d slain many a foe and witnessed many a friend be killed. Despite his experience, it was never easy to see someone you fought beside, cared about even, be murdered. And that was exactly what had transpired here. Dyllon and Verrill had been executed and he wouldn’t rest until their killers were brought to justice. Standing up, he squared his shoulders and faced his men.

“You five – stay here and guard the gate! No one is leaving this city until we get to the bottom of this. I’ll need some of you to transport the bodies up to the citadel and let the Captain know what has happened here!”

The officer was still shouting out orders as Moric maneuvered his way to the back of the crowd and headed for the street corner where Hadria and their men were waiting.

 “What is going on?” the woman asked as he approached, her brows furrowed in concern.

“The guards that were stationed at the gate are dead. Their throats were sliced.”

Hadria cursed under her breath and ran a weary hand through her thick waves.

“We’re too late!” she hissed, “We need to get out of the city now or we’ll never reach them!”

“That won’t be easy,” Moric warned, “They’re not letting anyone leave.”

Hadria looked away. Her eyes darted back and forth and the man knew she was trying to figure out a way around this unexpected obstacle. Finally, she stood straight and lifted her chin haughtily.

“Then we’re just going to have to improvise.”

With that, she began walking towards the crowd and Moric stared after her in confusion.

“Wait! What do you think you’re doing?”

She ignored his calls and kept walking. With a low growl, Moric turned to their other two companions and beckoned them to follow. Hadria shoved her way to the front of the horde. She eyed the guard who appeared to be in charge before stepping outside of the cluster of people.

“Officer!” she cried, “Officer! I know who did this!”

Moric stared at her incredulously, staying within the safety of the crowd as he watched the scene before him play out.

The officer gave her a skeptical look before approaching her.

 “What did you just say?” he asked as he looked her up and down.

“I think I may know who done this,” she confessed, “And I would like to offer my help.”

The officer looked up to see how the nearest onlookers were watching them intently and he grabbed the woman by the upper arm and guided her just out of hearing distance.

“Tell me your name and what you think you know,” he ordered.

Never once lowering her gaze, she took in a deep breath and answered the man.

“My name is Hadria,” she began, “I live with my brother, Huron, at the tavern and inn that he runs just down the street. I also work as a waitress there. Last night, a group of men came in and all ordered drinks. I served their table so I caught snippets of information from their discussion. The man who did the most talking is named Rueben. He’s a blacksmith, I believe. Big fellow, red hair, wears a cloak. He comes often and I…” she paused, “…I know him well. I heard him say that he caught word that the king and his family were leaving for a trip today and he meant to follow.”

The officer’s eyes widened at that and he stepped closer to the woman, hand catching her wrist.

“If you heard this, why didn’t you say anything to the guards?” he pressed, “Your king’s safety was threatened and you did nothing?”

She looked down for a moment as if ashamed before locking gazes with the officer once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t exactly know what was going on. I told you, I only caught snippets of the conversation. It wasn’t my business to be listening in the first place! I was scared.”

The officer released her after a few moments, convinced by the contrition he saw in her eyes.

“Very well,” he finally said, “Thank you for telling me. Now, be on your way.”

If what she said was true, then the men who murdered Dyllon and Verrill had fled the city and were potentially pursuing the king and his family. He needed to organize a scouting party to go after them and he needed to do it now. As he began walking toward another group of guards, Hadria called after him.

“Please,” she said, “Let me help you.”

He stopped and glanced at her over his shoulder before turning once more to face her completely.

“This is an official matter,” he stated, “Commoners such as yourself are not to be involved.”

He meant those words as a dismissal, but as he made to walk away again, she continued.

“There is a cottage.”

Sighing, he shut his eyes and hung his head before straightening himself and approaching her a third time.

“Where is there a cottage?” he asked, uncertain as to where the woman was going with this.

“Within the forest of Ithilien,” she replied, “Rueben uses it when he goes on hunting trips. I’ve…He’s taken me there before. I can lead you to it.”

The pair stared at each other; Hadria gauging the officer’s reaction while he, in turn, was gauging the truth behind her words.

“Fine,” he complied, “I’ll organize a scouting party and you will join us. Your job will be to lead us to this so-called cottage and,” he stepped closer, their faces a mere inch apart, “if you prove to be lying, I’m afraid the consequences will be very severe. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very,” she answered with conviction.

“Good. Now come with me. We’ll be leaving as soon as I can round up some horses.”

“If I may,” she interjected, “My friend Moric owns a stable,” she signaled to the man who had been watching their interaction carefully and he stepped forward, nodding to the officer, “He can get us some horses rather quickly. He is also a tracker. His skills may come in use if Rueben and his men are not at the cottage.”

The officer scrutinized the shabby-dressed man before him before nodding his consent.

“Lead us to your stables, Master Moric. We must make haste.”

* * *

 

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light twinkling along the surface of the water. The stillness of the night was disturbed by the sounds of crickets, the gentle flow of the river, and the popping and cracking of wood burning on a fire. Soon, another sound filled the air; soft and low. Legolas smiled fondly as he sat across from his husband who was currently singing an elven lullaby to the tired boy nestled in his arms.

 

_“Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him!_

_Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him!_

_The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow!_

_Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!”_

With each verse, the boy’s eyelids drooped lower and lower; the exhaustion from the day’s activities finally catching up with him. Earlier, when the trio had arrived at the river’s edge, they immediately went about setting up their camp. Eldarion “helped” his Papa pitch the tent and assisted his Ada in arranging a fire pit. Afterwards, the boy insisted on climbing the trees; an experience Legolas would forever cherish. His son proved to be a natural; leaping from limb to limb with a youthful efficiency. He had asked about the different types of trees, plucked a few leaves for safekeeping and simply sat and admired the view when they made it as high up as either parent was willing to go. When the sun had begun to disappear over the horizon, they used the remaining daylight to fish. The boy became completely drenched in the process and managed to soak his parents as well with his frantic splashing. So many memories had been made…and it was only their first day.

After the boy had fallen asleep, Aragorn continued to stroke his soft curls and gaze at his relaxed face. Whispering, so as not to wake the child, the man whispered,

“I have enjoyed today. I am glad we decided to do this. Seeing Eldarion with such joy brings joy to my own heart.”

“I think you mean you are glad that _I_ convinced you to do this,” Legolas ribbed.

Aragorn smiled, “Indeed. Thank you, _meleth_. I must admit it brought me joy to see you so happy, as well. It has been too long since you were last among the trees.”

Legolas’ smile slowly fell and he stared down at his hands for a moment. The man furrowed his brows in concern, but before he could ask the elf what was troubling him, the blond stood and walked over to his spouse and child.

“I’ll go collect more wood for the fire,” he suggested, “You should go ahead and settle in the tent for the night.”

He leaned down and offered the man a quick kiss before leaning even further and bringing his lips to his son’s forehead.

“Don’t be long,” Aragorn said as brushed his thumb along the elf’s cheek.

“I won’t,” the elf replied as he righted himself and with one last reassuring smile, departed into the woods.

Legolas walked far enough amongst the trees so that he could not be seen or heard, but close enough so that the faint glow of the campfire was still visible. Sighing, he brought his back up against a tree and slid down until he was sitting on the forest floor. He stared at the sparkling stars that littered the black sky and smiled. He had missed this – the feel of soil beneath his feet, bark against his palm, the light of the stars, the songs on the wind. He could have spent an eternity amongst such things, but he chose not to. He chose to forsake his immortality and lead a mortal life with the man he loved. He didn’t regret his choice; it is one he would gladly make again. But after living a thousand years or so in the heart of a forest, residing in a city of stone with little warmth and fewer colors was dampening to the soul.

After a few moments of being lost in his thoughts, the elf rose and scoured the ground for twigs and branches. He had collected quite the armful of wood when he noticed how quiet his surroundings had become. No breeze blew, no cricket chirped, and tension pressed heavily upon his shoulders. He stopped his gathering and glanced around the darkened wood, eyes and ears on alert. Then, the trees bristled. His mind was assailed by an urgent message; the voices of the trees filling his ears. They all said the same thing: _Danger! Danger!_

In the distance he heard a _snap_ ; a sound so soft that none but an elf could have heard it. Heart racing, he jerked in the direction of the sound and peered through the trees. He stood in that position for what felt like eternity and then…he saw them. With a panicked gasp, Legolas dropped his load of wood and raced towards the camp.

* * *

 

“We rest here for the night!”

The officer, who Hadria had learned was named Fendrel, brought his small scouting party to a halt and began barking orders. Moric hopped off his horse and turned to help the woman down who had ridden behind him. Soon, a fire was made and bedrolls were lain out as the group of men readied for sleep. Moric plopped down on the ground next to Hadria and spoke quietly.

“After the stunt you pulled today, I certainly hope you have a plan,” he said.

“I do. Assuming you’ve been keeping note of Rueben’s tracks?”

 “I have,” he affirmed, “His path and ours diverged about two hours back. The last I saw they were heading northeast.”

“Very well. We will retrace their steps,” she announced, “As soon as we rid ourselves of this lot.”

“And how will we manage to do that?”

Moric watched as the dark haired woman reached inside her satchel and began searching for something. When she appeared to have found it, she slowly revealed a small vial; one he had seen before.

“A sleeping draught?” he questioned.

She simply smirked at him in return before rising to her feet.

“Gentlemen,” she said to the camp, projecting her voice just enough for all to hear, “Can I interest you in a cup of tea before bed? The night is chilled and I’m sure you are all weary from our travels.”

As murmurs of agreement filled the air, Moric tried to hide his own smile as Hadria placed a kettle on the fire. With luck, all the men would be in a death-like sleep before the end of the hour and the pair can continue on with their original quest.

* * *

 

As Legolas entered camp, he didn’t even notice Aragorn sitting up waiting for him as he grabbed a pan of water and quenched the flames.

“Legolas?”

The elf jumped at the voice, but upon realizing who it was, turned and grasped the man’s forearms.

“Aragorn,” the elf breathed, meeting his husband’s eyes urgently, “Trouble is upon us.”

The man’s heart seized at those words. Trouble was the last thing he had been expecting but he could tell from the elf’s palpable anxiety that it was real. He returned the grasp, trying to steady his unnerved spouse.

“What trouble?”

“A group of men lie in the woods,” the elf began, “I saw them. There are about six, maybe more, they are all armed and they move in our direction. I sensed nothing but ill intention. I fear we must fight.”

“No,” Aragorn shook his head firmly, “We are outnumbered and with a child. We flee as quickly and quietly as we can.”

“Impossible,” Legolas denied, “They are already too near. They will hear us and they will catch us. If they’ve followed us all this way, they won’t stop until they find us. We’ll have to deal with them eventually. It might as well be now.”

“No,” Aragorn repeated, “I will not have our son near any danger! We must split. I’ll stay here and fight them while you take Eldarion and run.”

“Aragorn - ”

 “Legolas,” the man broke off his husband’s protest, “Listen to me. One of us has to stay with Eldarion. I will not send him running into the wilds alone as we fight a fight we may not survive. At least this way, he will be safe and be guaranteed one parent.”

Legolas’ heart sunk at his husband’s implication. _Snap_. The pair turned toward the forest at the sound. The men were getting closer.

“Go! Now!”

Aragorn pushed the elf towards the tent as he lept to retrieve his sword. Biting back an objection, Legolas entered the tent and gathered up his sleeping son. He felt like crying. He belonged beside his husband. They fought best as a team, they always had. But the man was right; what of their son? He was essentially being forced to choose between his husband and his child, and though it pained him, Eldarion’s safety came first. The boy stirred in the elf’s arms and he opened bleary eyes to meet the worried gaze of his father.

“Ada? What’s the matter?”

“Eldarion, I need you to listen. A group of men is coming our way, bad men. We need to go. You and I are fleeing south along the river and your Papa will join us later.”

“What’s Papa going to do?” the boy’s voice shook.

Legolas couldn’t find the strength to answer as he exited the tent. Aragorn approached them and cocooned the pair in a tight embrace, smothering the elf’s mouth with his own.

“ _Amin mela lle_. Both of you,” he said as he kissed the top of his son’s head.

“We love you too,” Legolas whispered.

“ _Kela! Nurta!”_

  The man broke away and pushed the pair along. Legolas ran southward, not daring to look back. His son, however, could not resist. Looking over the elf’s shoulder he cried,

“Papa!”

“Shh! Shh!” Legolas silenced him as he quickened his pace, “You will see him soon, _ion-nin_.” _I hope._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Translations:   
> Kela - Go  
> Nurta - Hide
> 
> Reviews appreciated!! Any crticisms or suggestions are taken seriously, I assure you :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! So, this coming week I have several papers due! Unfortunately, going to a writing intensive liberal arts school takes up a lot of my time! Before I had to work on those, I wanted to get another chapter out! It's a little later than I had planned, but that's life! So without further ado, here's chapter three! I'm honestly just thrilled that the Aralas fandom is still thriving!

_“Papa!”_

The anguished cry from his son echoed in his ears, traveling straight to his heart and causing it to ache with an intensity he never wished possible. His paternal instincts urged him to run after the child and comfort him with words and touch, but his survival instincts kept him rooted to the spot. He tightly clenched his eyes shut; breathing in and out as deeply as he could while silently sending out prayers that he’d be reunited with his son and spouse soon. With that last thought in mind, Aragorn opened his eyes and steeled his gaze towards the woods as he steadied the grip on his sword.

The sense of impending danger made him hyper-aware. The habits he had picked up from his time as a Ranger resurfaced and he welcomed them gratefully. He heard every gentle rustle of leaves, every splash of stream upon rock, and…the footfalls of approaching men. The sounds of forest debris being crunched under boot steadily grew louder and it wasn’t long before shadowed figures were spotted amongst the trees. The figures seemed to multiply as they drew closer; first three, then five until there were eight in total. _Eight against one_. The odds did not favor him, but then again, he had fought and won against far greater numbers.

Holding his ground, the king of men stood, sword drawn, as the brigands stepped through the safety of the trees and into the camp. His eyes swiftly ran over each man, making note of their stances and weapons. Three of them had bows and arrows, the rest had swords and daggers. Their clothes weren’t the finest, tattered and stained as they were. The men appeared to be middle-aged, lines and stubble covering what was visible of their cloaked faces. They wore no marking that might indicate where they had come from which made it difficult to determine what exactly they wanted. Were these perhaps men of Gondor seeking a ransom? Were they assassins sent by a lord of another land to eliminate a perceived threat? As his mind raced, his body remained unmoving. There was no point in putting up appearances; these men came looking for trouble.

As they all settled into a semicircle in front of their king, a burly man sauntered forward, arms crossed.

“Well, well. Would you look here, gents,” he announced sardonically, “Appears the king’s wandered too far from his castle!”

The men snickered at the jibe. Aragorn ignored the blatant disrespect in favor of glaring at the stranger.

“Oh! Dear me, where are my manners?” the man feigned offense before swooping into a theatrical bow, “Rueben, son of Reginald, at your service, Your Majesty.”

“I’d rather you not waste your breath on mockery and use it instead to state your purpose here,” Aragorn replied, his voice laced with an authority that intimidated most men, but apparently not this one. 

The stranger slowly rose into an upright position, removing his hood to reveal a head of thick copper hair that didn’t quite reach his shoulders. As he lifted his face, he locked gazes with the king, eyes hard and determined, lips raised in a smirk.

“Tut, tut,” his mouth turned downward in an artificial pout, “The king doesn’t like to play. Very well. We’ll get right to it then. You!” he pointed to the man furthest from his left, “Check the tent.”

Aragorn started, knowing the man would find nothing inside but still opposed to being searched without an explanation.

“You won’t move a single limb,” Rueben interjected as Aragorn attempted to block the approaching stranger, “Unless you want to have an arrow embedded in it.”

Aragorn glanced at the men surrounding him, two of which had arrows drawn and aimed directly at him. He clenched his jaw in barely contained anger. He didn’t take too lightly to being threatened.

“Nothing!” a man called from behind as he exited the empty tent.

“Figured as much,” Rueben sighed, unsheathing his sword and stepping close as he pressed the tip into Aragorn’s chest, the pressure too light to pierce flesh but heavy enough to make its presence known.

“Where’s that half-breed son of yours, Elessar?” the man probed.

Aragorn’s eyes flashed and his body tensed at the insult to his son and Rueben didn’t fail to notice. Smirking again, he pressed further, determined to break through the king’s stoicism.

“Come to mention it, where’s the elven whore who parades as your spouse?”

In one swift motion, Aragorn raised his arm, knocking the offending weapon out of his way while he hooked his foot behind one of Rueben’s and sent the man falling to the ground. He straddled the man, using one hand to grasp the collar of his shirt while the other held his sword at his throat.

“Take care how you speak of my family, you bastard, or those words will be your last,” the king spat, aware of the men who now surrounded him with weapons raised, but far too furious to care. If he died killing this man for the slurs made against his loved ones, it would be worth it.

Cautiously, Rueben raised his hands in submission, cool eyes never leaving those of the seething king.

“You seem to be a reasonable man, King Elessar,” he began, speaking calmly and slowly, “If you kill me, my men will kill you and then continue on to get what we came here to get in the first place.”

Tightening his grip, Aragorn drew the man’s face closer to his own, “And what exactly did you come here to get?”

“Let me up and I’ll explain everything.”

Aragorn eyed the man skeptically.

“I promise.”

The king knew any promises coming from this man were hollow, but still. Information was being offered and it was in his best interest to know it. With a rough shove to the ground, Aragorn released the man and stood. Offering a cunning grin that showed off a row of dirty, chipped teeth, Rueben stood and brushed himself off. The two men stared at each other, their mutual disgust obvious to all those present.

“I’m waiting,” Aragorn broke the silence in a nonchalant manner, doing his best to disguise his eagerness.

After another brief pause, Rueben broke eye contact with the king to glance around at his men, seeming to have a silent conversation that made Aragorn begin to feel uncomfortable. When Rueben’s eyes settled on Aragorn once more, his smile dropped and his face hardened.

“Tie him up.”

Aragorn immediately thrust his sword into the gut of the man closest to him. A dagger nicked his upper arm and he swung around, dodging a weapon while stabbing the offender in the chest. Another grabbed him from behind and he reared his head back, breaking his attacker’s nose. Suddenly, three men were on him at once. He managed to slice one on the thigh before his sword was knocked out of his hand and he was pushed to the ground. He made to get up but was stopped as a man loomed over him, arrow notched and aimed directly between his eyes. He met the gaze of the archer, surprised to find that the eyes seemed to be pleading with him, as if he didn’t want to shoot him if he didn’t have to. Looking more closely at his face, Aragorn noticed that this man was young, lacking the beard and lines that marred the faces of his companions. A wave of sorrow washed over the king as he was reminded of his son. Sighing, he raised his hands in the same way Rueben had done, allowing his wrists and ankles to be bound together as the bowman stepped way.

“You two!”

Aragorn turned his head in the direction of Rueben to see him singling out two men – a big, burly gentlemen and the young archer.

“Follow the river south,” Rueben ordered, “The elf and the boy have obviously fled so see if you can track them. And you two,” he pointed to another archer and a man with donning daggers, “Go north and see if you can find any trace of them that way. If you find them, bring me the boy unharmed. You have until sunrise. Go!”

Panic caused Aragorn’s heart to beat wildly. These men wanted his son. Why? And what’s more, they didn’t care if they had to kill Legolas to get him. While his mind and heart were in turmoil, he outwardly tried to remain calm. He didn’t want Rueben to have his suspicions confirmed by displaying an intense reaction.

The copper-haired man watched as his men disappeared from view. He hoped they wouldn’t return empty handed in the morning. Turing around, he found the roped king glaring at him. He walked over to the man and plopped down on the ground next to him. Smiling, he said,

“That was an impressive fight, Your Majesty. For a moment there, I worried that you might actually kill us all.”

_When I get out of these ties, I will most certainly kill you all_ , Aragorn vowed silently.

When the king offered no comment, Rueben stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his elbows. He relished the fact that he, an ordinary man, now held power of this mighty king.

“I guess explanations are in order,” he said with an air of amused indifference.

If his hands were free, Aragorn would have punched this heathen in the face. As it were, he knew the man was trying to get to him, like he took some form of twisted pleasure in taunting the monarch. So Aragorn remained still, disinclined to giving his captor any more satisfaction than he already had.

“What do you want with my son?” he demanded instead.

“ _I_ don’t want him.”

Aragorn blinked.

“Then who does?” he asked forcefully.

That annoying smirk was back on Rueben’s face.

“Tell me, Elessar,” Rueben began, evading the king’s question, “Have you noticed how things have changed recently? People not quite acting like they used to, an uneasiness dangling in the air, but no one is quite sure why?”

Aragorn didn’t answer, but the flicker of surprise behind those grey eyes told Rueben that he knew what he was referring to.

“Ah, so you have noticed!” the man gloated, “And you’ve just decided to do nothing about it…”

“It’s getting handled,” Aragorn growled.

“Not well enough, apparently…”

“What is the meaning of this discussion?” the king interrupted, “What is it that you want?”

Reuben was unfazed by the outburst. Instead, he sat up and leaned in close to Aragorn’s face. Aragorn drew back slightly, but his gaze never faltered.

“What I want,” the man began, “is to watch your world fall apart and savor the tortured look in your eyes as you stand by unable to prevent it. The crime, the fear, the darkness - that’s only the beginning,” Rueben lowered his voice, “Something is coming, Elessar. Something that will only grow and spread until all of Middle Earth is consumed by it.”

Aragorn was disturbed by the sadistic gleam in Rueben’s eyes. His words made no sense and Aragorn wondered if he was delusional or if the man really knew something that he himself did not. Deep down, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a truth to Reuben’s words and that something darker and more powerful than he realized was at work. If that were the case, he needed to know more. Maybe he wouldn’t kill Rueben after all; at least not immediately. He still had questions that needed answers…

“And what does Eldarion have to do with it?”

Rueben paused, scanning the king’s face as if searching for something before grinning and looking down at his hands. When he looked at the king once more, his expression was serious.

“Everything.”

* * *

 

He ran hard. The precious burden in his arms did little to hinder his speed. By now, they were quite a distance away from their camp, but he had no intention of slowing. He didn’t allow himself to think of Aragorn. He knew if he did, his heart would lurch and he’d lose his footing. Instead, he focused on his breathing; _in through the nose, out through the mouth_. His lungs burning the further and faster he ran. He focused also on the slight pressure in the pads of his feet each time they struck the hard ground. But most importantly, he focused on the light weight that was resting against his shoulder – he was the reason he was doing this after all. Eldarion had only recently stopped crying; his confused and tortured sobs now nothing more than quick, breathy gasps. Legolas did his best to comfort him, murmuring reassurances in his ear and stroking his back. He knew the boy had to be tired. Not only did crying tend to wear him out, but he hadn’t had a proper sleep to begin with. He had been asleep for no longer than an hour before Legolas had roused him and carried him off into the forest with little explanation. He couldn’t imagine what was going through his son’s mind. Perhaps with some sleep his troubled thoughts would fade. He knew the boy would find no rest in his arms and so, like it or not, they’d have to stop soon.

As Legolas became preoccupied with deciding when and where the pair should rest for the night, he failed to pay proper attention to his surroundings. A low branch that hung out along his path caught him unawares and thwacked him across his left cheek and eye as he ran through it. The sudden sting made him gasp and he nearly stumbled.

“Ada?”

Slowing down, the elf brought a hand to his injured face, hissing as he gently ran his fingers along the welt that was beginning to form. His eye was watering profusely and he gave in to the urge to keep it closed.

“You’re hurt,” Eldarion whimpered as he placed a tiny palm on his father’s uninjured cheek.

“It will be fine, little one,” Legolas panted as he came to halt and gently lowered the boy to the ground.

Catching his breath, Legolas tore a strip of cloth from his tunic before grabbing his son’s hand. He led the boy to the river’s edge and dipped the torn cloth into the cool, rippling water. After ringing out the excess liquid, he placed the cloth on his cut cheek, wincing at the slight pain. All the while, Eldarion held his father’s arm in a vice-like grip, observing the elf with concern. Looking at the boy with his good eye, Legolas sighed and drew him into gentle hug. The child complied, wrapping his arms as far around the elf as he could manage while resting his head on his heart. The steady beat was comforting to him. As an infant, Legolas had often lain with the boy on his chest when he was fussy, and even now, his son would seek that contact in moments of distress.

Stroking Eldarion’s hair with his free hand, the elf broke the silence, “We will rest here for the night.”

“Is Papa going to meet us here?” the boy asked softly, gripping the elf tighter.

“I … I don’t know, _ion-nin_ ,” the elf confessed wearily, placing a kiss on his son’s head, “We shall wait and see in the morning. Now come.”

Being near the river, great rocks were scattered along the bank. Legolas spotted a large boulder that was conveniently surrounded by shrubbery. It wasn’t much protection, but it was better than nothing. At least they’d be partially hidden. He beckoned Eldarion to follow and eased his way between the rock and the bushes. Taking off his cloak, his slid down the length of the boulder until he was sitting on the ground and opened up his arms. The boy immediately settled into his father’s lap and Legolas removed his bow and quiver, laying it on the ground beside him before wrapping his cloak around both his son and himself.

As his body began to relax, he started to realize just how exhausted he truly was. His legs and feet ached fiercely, adrenalin no longer blocking the pain. The left side of his face was starting to throb and his eye was swelling shut. It took all he had not to cry out in pure frustration. He wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his husband’s soft, warm embrace instead of the hard forest floor. But he wouldn’t despair – he was alive, his son was alive and with luck, Aragorn was alive too. All that mattered was lasting through the night and making it to safety in the morning. He mindlessly hummed a tune as Eldarion snuggled against him. He gently stroked the boy’s cheeks with his knuckles, gazing fondly at the face that so resembled Aragorn’s. Within minutes, his son was asleep and he gratefully joined him soon after.

* * *

 

Rueben refused to explain himself further. He figured his revelation was enough to warn the king without actually divulging any particulars of the greater plan. The less Aragorn knew now, the better. Oh, he would know eventually, but only when it was too late to do anything about it. He wanted Aragorn to worry, wanted him to suffer. So, instead of addressing the questions that now plagued the king’s visage, Rueben yelled for his companion to get a fire going. With a final grin, he rose from the ground then left Aragorn alone with his thoughts.

Aragorn knew the game that Rueben was trying to play – seemingly revealing everything without actually disclosing anything at all. Someone wanted his son – that much he knew. But why and for how long he knew not and he knew Rueben would say no more. He needed to get away. He needed to get to his son before these men did. If the former Ranger were to make an escape, now would be the opportune moment. The only people left in the camp were Rueben, one of his cronies and himself. He could easily overpower the two if only he were out of his damned restraints.

Casually surveying the area, the king of men looked for a sharp object that could potentially cut through rope. His sword would be ideal, of course, but it was too large and obvious, and its location currently unknown. He needed to do this discreetly, to take these men by surprise. He spotted a jagged piece of rock not too far from his left side. He glanced over at the two men, one of which was arranging sticks on a fire while Rueben watched. The red glow illuminated their faces and casted eerie shadows upon the ground. Slowly, he scooted towards the rock, eyes never leaving the two men. When he was within reach, he subtly slipped the object into his hands, arranging it in his palms so that the others could not see. He tugged his wrists apart, trying to loosen the ties as much as he could to give his hands more mobility. Rueben glanced over at him. Aragorn glared back, nothing in his expression or posture that could give him away. When Rueben turned back to his accomplice, he began sawing the jagged rock along the rope around his hands. Pieces began to fray away slowly but surely. He never lost sight of the two men, stilling his movements whenever they looked his way.

Minutes passed, the bonds were nearly cut when Rueben stood up suddenly. Aragorn paused. The other man stretched in a dramatic fashion before patting his stomach.

“Well, I do believe it’s time I caught up on some sleep,” Rueben announced, “All this hostage taking and kidnapping business has worn me out. And oh! Would you look at that! A tent is already prepared. Be a shame not to use it. Thellon, take the first watch. Elessar, get some sleep. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to see your family in the morning. Or at least the boy anyways, if only for a short while.”

With a satisfied chuckle, Rueben strode in to the tent. _Perfect_.  

Aragorn eyed Thellon. Though tall and broad of shoulder, he could easily dispose of the man. Plus, he’d have the element of surprise. He’d wait a while, long enough for Rueben to fall asleep, before making his move. When Thellon stared back into the fire, Aragorn sawed the rock more quickly until, with one final stroke, the rope fell in two. Smiling, he remained still and kept his wrists close together. Over the course of several minutes, he gradually maneuvered his bound ankles within closer reach. Then he waited. Thellon stood and twisted his back as if to pop it, giving a mighty yawn. With a final glance at Aragorn, he walked over to the river’s edge.

_This was his chance_. Swiftly and quietly, he reached down and untied the knotted rope. He struggled a moment, for the knot was tight, before his legs were finally free. Holding the rope in his hands, Aragorn decided it was time. He lept up and snuck up behind the unsuspecting man. In one hurried motion, he looped the rope around the man’s neck and pulled. With his airway cut off, Thellon could not scream or yell for help. He began to struggle, but Aragorn brought them both to the ground, pulling all the harder. Quiet, choked sounds filled the air and Thellon weakly clawed at the rope on his throat. After what felt like to Aragorn an eternity, the man’s movements ceased all together. Cautiously, he released the body. As he stood, he looked down into a pair of bulging, unseeing eyes. _One down, one to go_.

Heading into the center of the camp, Aragorn scoured the ground for his sword. He saw a reflection in the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw his sword propped up alongside the tent, the dying flames shimmering across the polished blade. He retrieved his weapon, careful of making too much noise and took in a steeling breath. Soundlessly, he pulled back the flap of the tent, frowning down at the poor excuse of a man that continued to doze. Performing the action for the second time that day, Aragorn straddled the unsuspecting brigand, grasping his collar as he was startled awake. He smiled a feral grin at the surprised look in Rueben’s eyes and held his blade to the man’s throat.

“It’s just you and I now, Rueben,” the king of men gloated, “I should kill you where you lie, and believe me I much desire it, but as it were, you are of further use to me. So listen carefully, I am going to tie your hands and you are going to join me until I find my family. Then, we shall return to Minis Tirith where you will be arrested and thrown into the dungeons. While you’re there, you’re going to tell me all you know about this approaching threat, even if I have to torture the information from you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

Rueben glared at him.

“Inescapably so.”

“Good, hold out your hands,” Aragorn ordered, “Now!”

Once satisfied with the knot, Aragorn jerked the man up and out of the tent. He kept part of the rope long and untied so that he could use it to lead the man and make sure he didn’t try to run.

“Keep up.”

With a tug of the rope, Aragorn broke into a sprint, heading south. Rueben nearly fell at the sudden jolt but quickly recovered his footing and fell in place slightly behind the determined king.

* * *

 

When his eyes flew open, the one thing he knew was that they were not alone. A second later, he once again heard the sound that had awoken him – _voices_.

“The footprints become closer together. See here? He must’ve stopped runnin’. Perhaps they are near.”

Legolas started. He didn’t recognize the speaker, but it was obvious the stranger was tracking him. Were these the same men who had found their camp? They had to be. But then what did that mean about Aragorn’s fate? Had they overcome him?

Gently, and regretfully, the elf shook the sleeping boy in his arms for the second time that night. As sleepy eyes found their focus, Eldarion stared curiously up at his father.

“Eldarion,” the elf whispered, “I need you to do as I say. I need you to get up and slowly walk behind me and climb as high as you can up into the nearest tree. Talk to them. Tell them you seek protection. See if they answer. And I need you to stay there. No matter what you hear or what you see happen to me, stay up in that tree. Do you understand me? Will you do this for me, please?”

Legolas knew they couldn’t run. The night was shrouded in silence; their footfalls would be too easily heard by the men nearby. He hated the utter fear that plagued his son’s eyes at his instructions, but it had to be done.

“I want to stay with you, Ada,” the boy whispered tearfully.

Legolas hugged the child tightly and whispered in his ear, “Just do as I say, _ion-nin_. Do as I say and I’ll join you soon after.”

“Okay, Ada,” the boy conceded.

“That’s my brave boy,” Legolas said as he pulled away, “Now go!”

As directed, Eldarion pushed away from his father and sprinted to the nearest tree, jumping up to latch onto the lowest branch.

“Please help me,” he whispered to it.

Instantly, the tree started to creak and groan, rearranging its limbs to assist the boy’s ascent.

“What was that?”

The two men stopped at the noise and stared out into the woods, their torch doing little to pierce through the surrounding darkness. As they began walking towards the direction the sound had come from, Legolas readied his bow. He crouched in the shrubs, searching with his good eye, remaining unseen until one of the two men came into view. Without giving so much as a second thought, he released an arrow, hitting the man square in the chest as he reached in his quiver for another.

At his friend’s cry, the other man, the young archer, darted behind the safety of a tree and readied his own bow. As his companion fell to the ground, torch and all, he saw what had killed him. _The elf was near_. The archer steadied his shaking hands and peered behind the tree. As it did so, an arrow whizzed by his face. Gasping, he dodged behind the tree once more. At least now he knew where the elf was hiding. Taking a deep breath, he reappeared from the cover of the tree and fired his own arrow in the direction where the other had come from. He heard his arrow ricochet off of a hard surface, most likely a rock or tree trunk. And then he heard another small sound. _The elf was moving_.

Legolas lightly scampered behind a nearby tree after an arrow hit the boulder directly above his head. _This human is better than I thought_. From what he could hear, the other archer remained in the same spot behind the tree, completely out of sight. They could wait each other out, but that would only last for so long. If he wanted to be rid of this threat as soon as possible, he’d have to make a move. Unwilling to expose himself, Legolas thought how best he could eliminate his target. There was another groan that penetrated the still air. The trees. _Of course_. Silently, Legolas began climbing up the tree he was hiding behind. As he reached the sturdier branches, he released his hold on the trunk and slowly walked out on a limb. With his superior sight, he could now see the human archer. The man stood, back to the tree, peering over his shoulder for the elf. Legolas aimed and released.

Much like his first victim, the arrow caught the man in his chest. Crying out, he looked up. Thanks to the light of the moon, a figure was silhouetted up in the trees. With the last of his strength, the human notched his own arrow and sent it soaring up into the tree. As he sunk to his knees, he watched with a satisfied sneer as the figure was knocked from the branch. Before succumbing to darkness, the last sounds to fill his ears were a short cry and a loud thump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliff hanger!! Any thoughts??


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thrilled with all of the positive feedback I have been getting from this story! That being said, I'm sorry if updates seem slow! That's why I try to make them long when I do update! Truth is, I'm a perfectionist and very self-critical so each chapter takes a lot of time and effort! Anyways, hope you enjoy the update!

“What happens if we are too late?”

Moric couldn’t help but ask, the question lingering on the edge of his thoughts ever since they had left the city in the company of the royal guards. He felt slightly guilty about drugging the guards, but he knew that they were only slowing them down. Plus, he couldn’t deny that it had been amusing watching them drop one by one like a swarm of flies. Still, it was a necessary action and clever on Hadria’s part. Nothing had gone as expected so far and he was beginning to worry. They should have acted sooner. If Rueben had the boy then all this had been for naught. Not to mention the fact that now a lot more people were involved so they would have to be extra cautious. He’d more than likely be imprisoned before all this was over with…That last thought caused him to sigh.

Sensing his distress, Hadria smirked. Moric always did worry too much. She could practically hear the thoughts as they raced through his mind. She grabbed his forearm in what she had meant to be a calming gesture as the pair continued their trek through the outskirts of the woods.

“Be calm, Moric,” she advised, “We will deal with our problems as they happen – no sooner, no later. You should know by now that things rarely ever go as planned. All we can expect at this point is the unexpected, but I need you to trust that whatever happens I will see to it that we finish what we have started.”

“I do trust you,” Moric asserted, flicking his gaze towards the woman’s face then down to the thin hand on his arm, “I just worry. We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.” 

“Mistakes are unavoidable,” countered Hadria, “But they can be rectified.”  

“Not easily.”

Hadria stopped then, waiting for her companion to do the same. She needed to erase all doubt from his mind once and for all. As he faced her, he met her stern gaze, the flames of the torch glinting in her hazel eyes; he almost glanced away at the intensity of it.

“We _will_ get the boy,” she spoke with conviction, leaning in close to his face, “The means may change but the end will be the same. Understand?”

As he nodded, she reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder and smiled as he covered it with his own. Their moment was broken, however, when a sharp cry sounded from behind them, resonating through the night. Hadria spun around, dark hair flying, as she peered into the blackness.

“What was that?” she wondered aloud.

Moric lifted the torch higher, but to no avail. Its light would only cast so far.

“Do you think it was Rueben?”

“Possibly,” the woman answered, eyes and ears on alert.

“Should we investigate?” Moric asked.

Hadria nodded, “Yes, but where do you suppose it came from?”

“From the east and just a little ways behind us. Definitely within the wood.”

“Then let’s go, but be as silent as possible. We don’t know what we’re dealing with,” she warned.

With that, Moric took the lead and headed in the direction of the sound. Hadria lifted up her skirts and followed closely, both nervous and eager to discover the source of the cry. And both hoping it wasn’t the boy.

* * *

 

Insurmountable pain thrummed through every fiber of his being. As he hit the ground, the breath was forced from his lungs and he struggled to let it back in. His chest stung with every intake of air and he brutally coughed it back out. Gasping and writhing, Legolas was all too aware of the throbbing in his right shoulder. He glanced down at the arrow protruding from his flesh and the blood that steadily soaked his tunic. The movement caused his head to spin and his stomach churned violently. He gently lowered his head back onto the hard ground and the feeling passed, but a dull ache in his skull remained. He reached up to break off the shaft, but found he lacked the strength, his arm falling limp beside him. He hoped the arrow wasn’t poisoned since he was in no position to remove it. Otherwise, he was as good as dead. How could he have been so careless? He had watched the human archer draw his bow and still did not move, underestimating the man’s dying strength. _And now **he** was dying_. No. He couldn’t be. The arrow hadn’t pierced anything vital. _Then why was he feeling so cold?_ He grew nauseous again as beads of sweat formed on his brow, chilling him even more as they were caressed by the night’s cool breeze.  The sensation was an odd one. As an elf, he was never affected by temperature, but since forfeiting his immortality, he felt it keenly. He knew the meaning of the cold he felt now. He had heard it been described by many on the battlefield as the life left their bodies and they succumbed to death. He began to panic. What of Eldarion? Had he witnessed his Ada’s fall? Or did he remain in the trees completely unaware?  What of Aragorn? Did he yet live? Or would his precious son be made an orphan? He groaned, cursing the tears that leaked from his eyes. His body began to tremble and he tried to control his shaky breaths. No! He could not die! Not now! Not like this! After all he had been through in his long life, he would not meet his end at the hands of a rogue archer. _And he would not leave his family without a fight_. Willing his soul to hold fast, the elf prayed for strength; either the strength to go find help or the strength to remain until help found him.

* * *

 

The moments since his father had awakened him passed in a blur. Eldarion had climbed as high as he could up into the tree, just as instructed. He was amazed when the mighty oak had answered his plea and eased his ascent. As he settled onto a particularly thick and level branch, he had heard the whizzing of arrows and understood why his ada had wanted him to hide. He wrapped his arms securely around the tree trunk, nails digging into the bark, eyes shut tight. The little prince waited for the danger to pass and his ada to join him, just as he promised. His heart pounded in anticipation as he heard more arrows soar through the air. _Please don’t hurt my ada._ The boy held his breath when after several agonizing moments he heard an unfamiliar pained groan. He could only assume someone had been wounded. Did that mean it was over? Had his ada killed the bad men? Just as the feeling of hope started to consume him, another sound echoed in his ears – a cry whose tone and pitch sounded scarily familiar.

“Ada?!”

He opened his eyes, peering through the trees to scan the forest floor. Though it was dark, the moon was high, emitting just enough light to allow visibility. His breaths became more frequent and shallow when he noticed the dead bodies of two strange men. His breaths stopped all together when his eyes landed on a beloved form that was writhing in obvious pain.

“No!”

His hands started to shake and tears soaked his face as he tried to climb down the tree. _His ada needed him. He had to hurry._ He miscalculated a step in the midst of his inner turmoil and just barely managed to reach out and grab another branch before plummeting to the ground. The shock of his near fall caused him to still. Once more, he wrapped his arms around the tree trunk and tried to control his panicked breathing. As he settled, he glanced down, realizing he still had quite a ways to go. When he made to step down again, a sudden thought caused him to pause:

_“No matter what you hear or what you see happen to me, stay up in that tree. Do you understand me? Will you do this for me, please?”_

He had promised his ada that he would stay in the tree no matter what. _But his ada was hurt_. And the bad guys were dead now, right?

An unexpected sound ended his indecision. He twisted his body around in search of the source of the footfalls when he noticed a tiny light moving in the distance. As it drew closer, he recognized it to be a torch. A tall, cloaked man handled the torch while a woman walked beside him. His heart and mind began racing when he realized the pair were heading straight for his ada.

* * *

 

Legolas heard the pair long before he saw them. Through his abnormally jumbled thoughts and senses, the sounds of crunching leaves evaded his ears. The only problem was that he could not tell from which direction they were coming from. The elf attempted to raise his head and see, but the action made him ferociously dizzy. He was helpless; left to wait as the sounds drew nearer and nearer.

After several moments of tortured anticipation, two figures were hovering over him, faces contorted in shock and concern. Though he blinked rapidly to clear his blurred vision, he could tell that the figure closest to him was a woman and the other a man. He tried to scramble away from them and reach for the dagger in his belt, but a firm yet gentle touch to his chest stopped him.  

“Be still, Prince Legolas. We mean you no harm.”

The smooth, feminine voice didn’t sound threatening, but he’d been wrong before. Warily, he stilled and met her fretful stare.

“Can you speak, Your Highness?”

Legolas opened his mouth to say yes, and was therefore shocked when nothing but a pained whimper passed his lips.

“Shh, it’s alright. My name is Hadria and this is my friend Moric. We’re going to help you. Do you understand?”

He closed his eyes and gave a brief nod, welcoming the light touch to his brow and hoping these strangers were being sincere. Their names meant nothing to him; He still had no clue who they were or why they were here, but he could ask his questions later.

“Good. Now, can you wiggle your toes for me, my prince?”

With great effort, Legolas managed to flex his toes, the movement visible through the skins of his boots.

“No paralysis then,” Hadria stated, seemingly pleased, “Aside from the obvious arrow wound, you appear to be concussed. Did you fall?”

Again, Legolas gave a brief nod.

“Then you’re lucky not to be in worse shape.”

Abruptly, the woman gripped the shaft of the arrow and turned it slightly. The arrow didn’t budge, but the sensation sent a new shock of pain rippling through the elf’s body and he cried out. His trembling intensified and his face paled dramatically.

“The arrow is lodged in his bone, most likely the shoulder blade,” the woman announced to her companion, “and he is going into shock.”

“What should we do?” came the rich, rough voice of Moric.

The man held up his torch to get a better look at the monarch, taking in his dilated eyes and dampened skin.

Hadria reached into her bag and pulled out the same sleeping draught she had used earlier, wrenching off the cork and moving a hand behind the prince’s head.

“Prince Legolas,” she began, “I need you to take a sip of this. It will help with the pain.”

He eyed the bottle skeptically and shook his head.

“Please,” the woman begged, “Trust me.”

Holding her gaze, he could sense no malice and felt his resolve waning. He sighed, praying that he wasn’t about to make a stupid decision. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth, the woman smiling in encouragement. Three drops of liquid landed on his tongue, the taste bitter. He swallowed with some difficulty before his head was lowered. Immediately, his body grew lax and he felt overwhelmingly fatigued. His eyes drooped shut but he was still aware of rustling and movement taking place around him. Soon, he blocked the noises out, his lasts thoughts of his husband and son before giving in to sleep.

* * *

 

As the prince surrendered to sleep, Moric turned to Hadria who sat still at the elf’s side, seemingly at a loss for what to do. He had been surprised to find the prince, of all people, injured and alone and he was sure Hadria felt the same. After all, what did this mean for the boy? For the king?

“What now?” he asked, breaking the silence.

The woman appeared to snap out of a trance, shaking her head before gazing up at Moric.

“I do not have the supplies to treat him properly,” she admitted, “He needs to be taken back to the city.”

Moric’s eyes widened in surprise, “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying,” Hadria began, “is that we need to return to our new guard friends and escort the prince to the Houses of Healing.”

“But - ”

“Otherwise, he will die.”

Moric cursed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Just think Moric, if we can get the prince on our side we can have greater access to the boy.”

“How do we even know the boy is alive?” Moric hissed, “He could be in the same shape as the elf or worse!”

“He lives,” Hadria argued, but didn’t offer an explanation, “As does the king.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Moric sighed and rested a hand on his hip.

“What’s the plan then?” he asked dejectedly.

Hadria glanced back down at the slumbering elven royal.

“I’ll break off the shaft and secure his arm in a sling. Believe it or not, we don’t want to remove the arrow totally because it’s helping to clot the blood. We’ll have to be careful not to jostle his arm too much though or we’ll cause further damage to the tissue and muscle. Afterwards, we’ll head back the way we came. The guards should be awake by the time we reach them. Leave the explaining to me.”

“Very well,” Moric nodded.

“But first, search the area. The prince’s attacker may have left evidence.”

As Moric delved deeper into the wood, Hadria turned her attention solely to the injured prince. Gripping firmly at the base of the shaft, just above where the arrow pierced flesh, she used her other hand to snap the end off. The elf’s face twisted in pain, but he did not wake. Casting the broken weapon aside, she reached for the dagger in the prince’s belt and began cutting the bottom of her skirts with which she planned to make a sling. Satisfied, she returned the dagger to the prince and started to securely wrap the fabric around his arm, torso and shoulder before tying it in place behind the elf’s neck. Moric returned just as she was finishing up.

“It seems our prince fares better than his attackers. Two of Rueben’s men lie dead. No signs of any others.”

“Let us be on our way then,” Hadria replied, “You’ll have to carry him.”

Moric passed the torch to his companion and bent to lift the limp elf in his arms. Hadria used her free hand to hold the prince’s head steady. Once secure, Moric was surprised at how light the body felt – _must be an elvish thing_.     

With one final glance at their surroundings, the duo made quick work to retrace their steps.

* * *

 

“Don’t you plan on stopping sometime soon? We’ve been at it all night!” Rueben grumbled as he struggled to keep up with the determined king.

A few paces ahead, Aragorn tugged forcefully on the rope securing his prisoner.

“You don’t have the right to complain,” he sneered, “It is because of you and your men that we do not stop.”

Though Aragorn could not deny his own tiredness, he refused to give in.  He was hot on the trail and would not rest until he held his husband and son in his arms. He had gone for more than twenty-four hours without sleep during his Ranger days, and even during the quest; this time would be no different.

Not long ago, dawn had broke over the horizon, making tracking both his family and Rueben’s men all the easier. Crushed leaves, snapped branches, and boot impressions guided his way, spurring him onwards and offering hope. Rueben grunted and panted as he followed, but Aragorn held little sympathy for the man’s exhaustion. As far as he was concerned, it was his own fault. But this was nothing compared to the punishment he had planned for him should his loved ones be harmed in any way.  

Aragorn paused in his chase, Rueben nearly running into him, when he noticed a change in the footprints. The distance between each step of matching prints started to decrease, indicating a shift from a run to a walk. He looked up and scanned the surrounding forest, eyes landing on a cloaked figure lying still amongst the brush. For a moment, his heart stopped. He rushed towards the figure, sighing in relief when he saw it wasn’t Legolas. He turned the figure on his back, feeling a small amount of pride when he noticed his husband’s arrow sticking out of the man’s chest. Searching once more, he noticed a second figure slouched behind a tree just a few feet away. Walking over to it, he recognized the face of the young archer, another of Legolas’s arrows hitting true.

“Damn.” Reuben said, his tone laced with mild disappointment.

“You should have known it was folly to send two men after an elven warrior.”

Rueben gave a mordant smile, “It’s a mistake I won’t be making again.”

“Agreed,” Aragorn said in complete seriousness, “After all, it’s hard to make mistakes from prison.”

The smile dropped from Reuben’s face and he cast the king a scathing look. Aragorn gave his own mocking smile, satisfied at the feeling of having the upper hand. He was feeling hopeful. If Rueben’s cronies were dead, then they hadn’t managed to take his son. Speaking of which…

Aragorn dropped his gaze to the forest floor, reexamining the tracks of his husband to get a sense of which direction he went. His prints were easy to distinguish; the long and slender impressions vastly different from the broad and heavy depressions belonging to the men. He was following Legolas’s path toward the river when a voice rang through the trees.

“Papa!”

Aragorn’s head shot up, frantically looking about as he started running towards the call.

“Eldarion!”

 “Papa! Over here!”

He turned to his left just in time to see his son scaling down a tree and plopping onto the ground. As the boy spun to face his father, Aragorn had never seen a more beautiful sight. Though his hair was disheveled and clothes slightly tattered, he was alive. And that was all that mattered.

Father and son raced towards one another, relief shining in their eyes. Aragorn dropped to his knees, not caring that the fabric tore, and held open his arms as the boy drew near until he collided with his father’s chest. Aragorn enveloped him in a fierce hug, one hand holding the back of the child’s head while the other wrapped around his middle and pulled him close.

“Oh, thank the Valar!” Aragorn mumbled into the boy’s hair.

Eldarion had buried his face in the man’s neck, tears soaking the exposed skin. After several precious moments, Aragorn pulled back and cupped the boy’s face in both hands. He took in the dark circles under his son’s eyes and the way his whole body seemed to shake. He wiped away lingering tears with his thumbs.

“It’s okay, _ion-nin_. We’re okay. I’m here now,” he reassured the boy as he glanced around, waiting any second for Legolas to appear.

“No, Papa! It’s not okay!” the boy wailed.

“Ssshh,” Aragorn tried to soothe, stroking his son’s face, “What’s not okay? Where’s Ada?”

At the mention of his elvish father, the boy wept harder, “They took him!”

Aragorn’s blood turned to ice. He took a deep breath and firmly grasped his son’s shoulders.

“Who, Eldarion? Who took him? Tell me what happened?”

“T-two bad men were coming after us,” he said between sobs, “Ada told me t-to hide in the tree! A-and then I heard Ada cry and I looked down and he was lying on the ground! He was hurt! I w-was gonna help him but a strange man and woman came from that way and they took him!”

Aragorn drew the boy to his chest once more, moving his hand in small circles over the child’s back. He looked in the direction his son had pointed and stood with the boy in his arms. He turned to Rueben, having momentarily forgotten about the other man. He was surprised that the man hadn’t tried to run while the king was distracted. He was even more surprised at his continued silence.

“Do you know who they might be?” he asked, “This man and woman?”

“They’re not with me if that’s what you’re asking,” Reuben replied.

Growling, Aragorn strode forward, jerking Rueben along behind him. He reached the small clearing that his son had pointed towards, noticing a broken shaft strewn upon the ground. The arrow did not belong to Legolas. Searching, he did not see the arrow’s other half and that worried him. As he crouched down he sighted a small red stain in the grass. Dropping a finger into the liquid, he confirmed it was blood – he didn’t want to think about whose. Inspecting the grass more closely, he observed how some of it was bent – a body had lain there. He placed a hand on the grass, hoping to feel some lingering warmth from the figure which had lain upon it. He did not.

As he rose to his feet, he spotted two new sets of footprints. One was short and wide, the imprints sinking heavily into the ground – a man, no doubt. The other was short and slim, barely leaving an impression upon the earth – probably a woman. His son had seen true.

“Don’t fret, Eldarion,” the king spoke into his son’s hair, “We’re going to get your Ada back.”

Tucking his son under one arm and leading Rueben with the other, Aragorn followed the retreating steps, hoping for the sake of the owners of these new prints that his elf was alive and well.

* * *

 

To say that Fendrel was furious would be an understatement. After slowly coming to and realizing his men were in a similar state and their escorts gone, he felt utterly betrayed and equal amounts foolish. He had warned that woman – Hadria – that if she proved to be untrue the consequences would be severe. Apparently she thought the threat idle since she found it safe to drug the royal guards and make haste. Now here he was a good day’s ride from Minas Tirith, with a large company of men, and absolutely no idea where to go. To turn back to the city would be a waste of time, the royal family was in danger and they needed to be found quickly. He supposed they could abandon their northward trek to this so-called cottage, if it even existed, and make straight for the river. There, the party could split, one travel upstream and the other down.

Fendrel was pulled from his thoughts by the shouts of his men.

“There! Look there! Someone approaches!”

“Swords at the ready!”

“Stay put!”

Fendrel finished strapping on his vambraces and moved in front of where his soldiers had gathered, peering at the figures in the distance. As they drew closer, he recognized them immediately, slightly surprised to see them returning at all. His surprise was short-lived and soon replaced with a burning anger. These two would not get away with what they had done – return or no. He began marching forward, eager to dispense punishment. However, whatever reprimand he had been prepared to give died as he noticed the lifeless body Master Moric was cradling. His march turned into a sprint.

“Prince Legolas!”

At his cry, several of his men began to follow, concerned and eager to assist their royal charge.

“What have you done?” Fendrel shouted as he made to take the prince from Moric’s arms.

“Peace, my Lord!” Hadria plead, “We have saved him, not hurt him.”

“Why should I believe you?” Fendrel asked, eyes aflame, “You drugged me and my men and left us unguarded despite me going out on a whim and allowing you to join us!”

“I know,” the woman began, “And I apologize, but time is of the essence and we cannot afford to argue the justification of my actions. His Highness is gravely wounded. He has an arrow wound and a concussion. He already has a fever and if he is not further tended to an infection is sure to set in.”

Fendrel glanced down at his prince. His complexion was unusually pale, even for him, and sweat collected along his brow. His cheeks were flushed and his body trembled. Blood was already soaking through the makeshift sling he assumed the woman had prepared.

“He needs to go back to the city,” the woman said, “To the Houses of Healing.”

“What of the King? Prince Eldarion? Where are they?” Fendrel asked.

“We do not know,” Hadria confessed, “We found the prince alone, except for two of Rueben’s men which the prince had managed to kill.”

“So you were right then? This Rueben is the one behind it all?”

“It would appear so.”

Fendrel sighed and scratched at his head.

“The prince will go back to the city,” he began, “But we cannot abandon the king and heir. Hadria, you will return to the city with three of my men. Moric, you will join me and the rest of the company and show us where you found Prince Legolas. From there we will search for this Rueben and King Elessar.”

Moric and Hadria shared a looked before nodding to the officer.

“Very well,” the woman agreed, her response cut short by a groan from the prince.

“We must hurry,” said Moric.

Eying the pair, Fendrel turned around and began barking orders, explaining which men would be joining him and which three would ride back to the city. When all was settled, Hadria mounted a horse, one of the guards coming up behind her. On the horse beside her, another guard held Prince Legolas, tightening the straps they had arranged to secure the prince to the saddle. Before doing so, she had given the prince more sleeping draught; just enough to keep him from waking during the journey that would no doubt aggravate his wounds.

Fendrel approached the saddled party.

“I bid you a safe journey, my friends. Ride hard.”

With that, he slapped the haunches of the nearest horse and sent it flying. The other two horses followed suit. Hadria spared a glance backward, watching as the troop grew smaller and smaller with every stride she took towards the White City.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated! Feel free to check out my other Aralas story - "While You Were Dancing" - that is, if modern aus are your thing ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uumm remember me? Its been four months since an update and I appologize for that! In my defense, I was out of the country for most of June and last month I started a field research project for my university with my Archaeology professor. As of now, I have a couple of free weeks ahead of me so I worked on this as soon as I could because I've missed it! Hope you continue to stick with me until I see this story through! Thank you so so much for reading! Feel free to give feedback or ask questions! Enjoy! XOXO Jess

The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, its rays penetrating through layers of leather and wool much to Aragorn’s chagrin. The insufferable heat was exhausting him more than his lack of sleep. At this point, sheer determination is what kept his eyes open and his feet moving. Were Legolas there, he’d chide the man for his recklessness. But he wasn’t there. And so Aragorn refused to stop.  

From over his father’s shoulder, Eldarion stared at the strange man who accompanied them, partly out of curiosity and partly because there was nothing else of interest to look at. In the relief of being reunited with his papa, he hadn’t noticed the man at first. But once he did notice him, he was instantly uneasy. His large figure and unkindly face were unnerving enough, but the hateful glares he directed at his papa certainly didn’t better his opinion of him. He didn’t bother asking his father who the man was. Given the trying events that he was still suffering from, he could only guess that this was one of the bad men who had wanted to hurt his family…and partially succeeded. As if sensing his stare, the man looked up from his feet to meet Eldarion’s eyes. As their gazes locked, the boy couldn’t help but shudder. The man’s eyes were intent, his mouth slowly breaking out into a satisfied grin. This was not the look of an angered criminal upset at having his plans thwarted, instead it was a look that could best be described as a predator who knew that he had cornered his prey and was waiting for the opportune moment to strike. That final thought scared Eldarion more than anything; he knew this man could not be trusted.

The boy was stirred from his thoughts by a sudden jerking motion. He tightly held onto his father’s neck as the man lurched forward before regaining his footing. It wasn’t like his father to stumble so freely.

“Are you alright, Papa?” he asked meekly.

“I’m fine, son. It was just a clumsy mistake.”

The King of Men offered his son a reassuring smile but the younger was not buying it. The boy knew his father was weary of walking, that he was worried for his Ada, and that he felt guilty for all that had occurred. But he would never admit it: at least not to him. Eldarion knew the man was being strong for his sake, and so he decided that he could be strong for his Papa too.

“Let me down, Papa. I can walk for a while.”

Aragorn looked to his son, confused at the sudden resolve he watched sweep over the boys features.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

The boy nodded, “Please. I want to walk.”

“Alright.”

The man couldn’t deny the relief his arms and back felt at being free of the extra weight. But he would have carried his boy all the way back to Gondor had he but asked.

When both feet were planted firmly on the ground, Eldarion took in a deep breath. The smell of the wind lifted his spirits and suddenly he cared not that his head ached from lack of sleep or his belly growled in hunger. Instead, he smiled and grabbed his papa’s hand.

“We will be with Ada again soon. I can feel it,” he said happily.

Aragorn was humbled to be in the face of such raw optimism. Eldarion had every reason to despair yet he did not. The smile on his boy’s face was a balm to his troubled soul. He had Legolas’s smile…

He grinned back at his son and squeezed the small hand that rested in his own.

“Of course we will,” he promised, his doubts fleeing at the hope he saw in the child’s eyes.

“I hate to interrupt such a touching moment, but do you hear that?”

The gruff voice caused the smiles to drop from their faces. Both father and son looked behind them to find Rueben with his head cocked to the side and eyes closed. Aragorn too closed his eyes, concentrating on hearing whatever it was his prisoner had heard. After a few moments, a faint sound drifted to the man’s ears. _Clop clop clop clop_ …  

His eyes opened in recognition.

“Horses.”

By now, the trio had wandered away from the forest and out into the fields. With nowhere to hide, Aragorn ordered them to duck down in the tall grass. He knew not whether these horses bore any riders and if those riders were friend or foe. And so they would wait and find out.

Slowly, the beasts came into view, heading towards the direction the three of them had just come from. Mounted upon the horses were armoured men. As they drew closer, Aragorn could have cried from happiness as he noticed they sported the emblem of Gondor. He rose immediately, dragging his son and Rueben with him. He ran towards the men and shouted as loud as he could.

“Halt, riders of Gondor!”

At his call, the troupe of men whipped their heads in the trio’s direction, pulling on the reigns of their horses. 

“King Elessar! Is that you?” a familiar voice exclaimed.

“Aye, my Lord Fendrel! It is I!”

Fendrel lept off of his horse with ease, Moric and his men following, and ran to meet his king. He laughed in relief when he saw the young prince; the royal pair alive and seemingly well. He stopped just short of Aragorn, reaching out to clap a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re Majesty! I am so glad we found you!”

“What news have you? What draws you from the city?” Aragorn asked.

Aragorn grew concerned as Fendrel looked away, his features becoming grave.

“I have much news, my king. And none of it good,” he sighed heavily, looking up and for the first time noticing the man that stood with his hands tied and a scowl on his face, “Who is this?”

“That is Rueben,” Moric answered as he came to stand beside the troupe leader.

Rueben smirked at Moric, “Traitor.”

“Put him in irons,” Fendrel ordered.

Before Aragorn could react, Reuben was pulled from his side and shackled. He looked between Fendrel and the unfamiliar man who had identified his prisoner.

“What do you know of Rueben?” he asked the troupe leader.

“On the morning you left, sire, the two guards stationed at the city gate were found murdered, their throats cut. This man here, Moric, and his companion suspected Rueben and assisted us in tracking him and you down.”

Aragorn set his jaw, staring at the ground as he absorbed the news. He was both saddened and angered that two more good men had died on his account. 

“I suppose I should be thanking you then,” Aragorn said to Moric, “Where is your companion so I could thank them as well?”

Moric and Fendrel shared a look causing the king to narrow his eyes in question. It was Fendrel who finally answered.

“She has ridden back to Gondor with a few of my men and the Prince Legolas.”

At the mention of his husband’s name, Aragorn grew anxious. He stepped forward, grasping Fendrel’s arm urgently.

“Legolas? You have seen my husband? He is alive?”

Fendrel couldn’t bare the desperation that came over his king. Defeated, both he and Moric bowed their heads. Their actions doing nothing to encourage Aragorn.

“The last we saw, Prince Legolas was alive. But just barely…”

Eldarion gasped, wrapping both arms around one of his papa’s legs. _Ada had to be okay! He had **felt** it!_

 Aragorn numbly placed a hand on his son’s head.

“What has happened to him? Spare me no details!”

Fendrel took a steadying breath.

“Moric and Hadria were the ones who found him and brought him to us,” he began, turning to Moric.

“We found him lying on his back on the ground,” Moric continued, “There was an arrow lodged in his shoulder. He seemed to have lost quite a bit of blood. Hadria thought he appeared concussed and the prince was able to confirm that he had suffered a fall. Hadria hadn’t the supplies to treat him…”

“He was unconscious and feverish when they reached us,” Fendrel concluded, “We are not certain how much permanent damage was caused or if an infection had set in. I ordered him to be escorted back to the city while the rest of us went in search of you, Your Highness.”

Aragorn could not stop the pounding of his heart or the dryness in his mouth. His hands shook, itching to heal and to hold his elf. He needed to go to him. He needed to go _now_. He pushed Fendrel aside, intent on making his way to the horses.

“My King?” Fendrel asked worriedly.

“I need to get to Minas Tirith. I need to be with Legolas,” Aragorn chanted.

He wasn’t aware he was falling until he landed harshly upon his knees.

“Papa!”

“King Elessar!”

He grabbed at the sides of his head, frustrated at how dizzy he felt. He flinched when he felt a pair of hands fall upon his shoulders.

“My King, it is getting late. Please take this night to get some well-deserved rest and we will make for the city at first light,” Fendrel beseeched.

Aragorn shook his head, his own thoughts warring with Fendrel’s advice. He wanted to get home, but he knew that neither his body nor the light of day were on his side. Dejectedly, the man rose to his feet. He turned around to find his son standing a few feet away from him, arms wrapped around himself and fear in his eyes. He cursed himself. He had acted selfishly just now – concerned with his own wants and needs and completely disregarding those of his son. Slowly, he walked over to the boy, crouching in front of him before drawing him into his arms.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Eldarion wrapped his arms around his father in response and gave a tight squeeze, loosening his grip only when he felt the man start to pull away.

Aragorn cradled his son’s face in his hands and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“We will camp here tonight and get some sleep. And then in the morning, we will go see Ada. How does that sound?”

“Were you going to leave without me?” Eldarion mumbled, taking Aragorn by surprise.

“What?”

“You were gonna leave just now,” Eldarion whimpered, “And you didn’t pick me up or tell me to follow.”

“Oh, son,” the king replied, “I lost myself for a moment. I would never dream of leaving you. Never.”

The boy looked into his father’s eyes, seeing the pain, regret and hope. He nodded, curving his mouth in a brief smile to let the man know he was forgiven.

Relieved, Aragorn stood with the boy in his arms and turned towards Fendrel, suddenly self-conscious by the eyes of the men who looked at him expectantly.

“Let’s make camp,” he spoke softly, but with enough authority to spur the men to action.

Fendrel began shouting orders.

“Bring forth the extra bedrolls! Get a fire going! Water the horses! We will sleep in shifts so that we have eyes on the prisoner at all times!”

Once the fire had been made, Aragorn took the blankets he had been handed earlier and spread them out on the ground. As he took a seat, he was given two pieces of bread, two pieces of dried meat and two apples. He handed Eldarion his share, grieved at how the boy took the food greedily. It was then that he realized his son had not eaten all day.

“Slow down, _ion nin_ ,” he chided, taking the food away and feeding him bits at a time, “Eating too quickly will only make you sick. You need to be well for when we see Ada.”

The boy seemed to sober at that, chewing his food more slowly as he glanced up at his papa.

“Is Ada going to be ok?” he asked quietly. The hope he had felt earlier had been tainted with doubt.

Aragorn looked thoughtful for a moment then reached over and placed the child in his lap.

“Your Ada is the strongest person, man or elf, that I have ever known,” he said sincerely, “He loves you and I too much to let a mere arrow separate us.”

Eldarion smiled, leaning back against Aragorn’s chest as he lazily chewed on his meat. The king ran a hand through his son’s hair, feeling suddenly calmed by the words he had just spoken because he knew them for truth. Legolas would not leave him. He was far too stubborn. He survived the War of the Ring, he survived carrying their son, and he would survive this too.

“How did he find you?”

Aragorn was startled from his thoughts by Fendrel’s question. He followed the man’s gaze until his eyes landed on a disgruntled Rueben who sat on the ground, hands and feet shackled while the sun was beginning to set behind him.

“He must have been tracking us,” the king answered, “We had already set up camp when he and his men made their move. Had Legolas not heard their approach when he did, all of us could have been lost.”

Aragorn winced when he remembered who was in his lap. Fortunately, he glanced down to find his child starting to doze off.

“Legolas and I separated,” he continued quietly, “He took Eldarion and ran while I stayed behind to fend the men off.”

“Did he make any mention of why he was after you and your family?” Fendrel inquired, eager to know the reason behind this man’s madness.

“He wants my son, but not for himself,” Aragorn shuddered, pulling the boy closer to him, “He didn’t say for who or why.”

Fendrel’s eyes widened at that revelation. Why was someone trying to kidnap the young prince?

“Worry not, my king. Once we are back in the city, I will personally escort that man to the dungeons to await his trial. When he is found guilty, he will never be able to hurt your family again.”

Aragorn clapped his shoulder in gratitude.

“I’m just ready to put all of this behind us.”

Fendrel nodded his understanding.

“Get some sleep, Your Highness. The sooner the night is over, the sooner you can see your husband.”

Aragorn smiled, watching Fendrel depart and make his way over to the men guarding Rueben. As his eyes fell onto the man who was responsible for all of this, he scowled. He could not wait to pass judgment on this rogue; to make him pay for his mistakes. The king’s face softened as his son squirmed in his sleep, burying his face in the crook of the man’s arm. Gently, Aragorn placed the boy onto the blanket before lying down beside him. The movement woke the boy, causing him to stare groggily at his father.  Aragorn lightly stroked his son’s cheek.

“Sleep, dear one. I will not leave you.”

Aragorn watched as eyes that so resembled Legolas’ were closed in slumber once more. Suddenly, all of the man’s weariness seemed to catch up with him. He shrugged his cloak over himself and Eldarion and gave a tired sigh. As soon as his own eyes were shut, sleep claimed him; Visions of his beloved filling his dreams.

* * *

 

Faramir sat in silent agony at the end of the long, stone table. The last strands of his patience were slipping from his grip as he watched the Lords of Gondor bickering amongst themselves. Order had given way to chaos almost the instant the council had begun and that was hours ago. He had attempted to rein the men in on several occasions but had yet to succeed, each topic of discussion inciting debates that were leading to nowhere. How did Aragorn manage to make this look so easy?   

“Well his behavior is very unbecoming of a king! Had he remained in the city like we had suggested, none of this would have happened!”

That got Faramir’s attention. Without moving his head, which was currently resting in his hand, he looked to the lord who had just spoken; a stuffy old gentleman whose physical size matched that of his ego. Ranulf was his name and too often had he been the source of many of Faramir’s headaches.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Ranulf,” he announced, “What was that you just said about our king?”

All was quiet after Faramir’s question. Every pair of eyes focused on Ranulf whose cheeks flushed slightly before he puffed out his chest and lifted his chin haughtily.

“I was merely implying that if King Elessar had heeded our advice and not left the city then we currently would not be here having this discussion.”

There were several murmurs and a few nods amongst the rest of the lords. Faramir rose from his seat and silenced any further comments with a raise of his hand.

“Last I checked, none of us here have the power of foresight. We do not know what _would_ have happened had the king stayed within the city, so it does not do to dwell on it. The point is that a crime _has_ been committed against the guard and the royal family and we must decide how to deal with it. _That_ is the matter at hand. It is situations such as this that account for this council’s very existence. So, gentlemen, if you are all done pointing fingers and placing the blame on those who aren’t even here to defend themselves, might I suggest we go about accomplishing the very task for which we were summoned here today?”

Ranulf’s face turned as red as a cherry as he glared at the young Steward. Never had he been spoken to in such a manner! The other lords simply gaped at one another, stunned by the blunt speech that had just been spoken by the normally reserved and level-headed Faramir. Faramir himself was rather surprised by the boldness of his words, but it was too late to take them back now. And so he remained standing while the lords silently got back into their seats, spines straight and hands folded in front of them. _Finally._

Just when the Steward thought that things were settling down, the doors to the council room burst open. A young squire, who was more bone than muscle, fell into the room, panting heavily as though he had been running. The lord sitting nearest to the doors, Lord Turgen, spluttered in exasperation.

“What is the meaning of this, boy? Can you not see that we are in the middle of official business?”

Faramir raised an eyebrow at that.

“B-beggin’ your pardon, my lords,” stuttered the squire, “But I w-was instructed by Captain Ronan to fetch Lord Faramir immediately. Riders approach the city bearing the emblem of Gondor. The Captain suspects them to be from Fendrel’s troupe.”

All eyes turned from the squire to the Steward.

“My Lords, council is dismissed. Be ready to reconvene at any moment.”

Giving a brief bow of his head, Faramir made his way around the table, throwing his arm around the squire’s shoulders as he approached him.

“How close are they?” he whispered to the boy.

“They should be at the gates by now, sire.”

“How many?”

“Three horses, four riders.”

Faramir furrowed his brows at that. _Something must be wrong for so few to return so soon._

“Lead me to your Captain, then.”

The pair traversed their way across the citadel, heading to the Captain’s station where the incoming riders would have to report. As they turned a corridor, Faramir nearly ran head on into his wife.

“Eowyn!”

They gripped each other’s forearms to steady themselves and shared a brief smile before the Lady of Rohan grew serious once more.

“I saw riders from the balcony,” she stated, “Are you going to meet them?”

“We are,” he confirmed, “You may join us if you wish.”

Eowyn sighed in relief. The Steward knew his lady was worried for her friends. She and Legolas had especially grown close over the years, the pair keeping each other company when their spouses were occupied with official matters. Though Legolas himself was a member of the council, he only attended when circumstances were dire or his husband asked. Faramir suspected he felt uncomfortable and unwelcomed in the room full of noble men who had resided in the White City their entire lives.

Looping her arm through her husband’s, Eowyn and the two men continued their march towards the Captain. As they passed a window overlooking part of the city, they noted that the riders had made it onto the streets. They watched as the group split up, one rider heading in their direction while the others veered left towards The Houses of Healing. Faramir and Eowyn shared a worried look before hastening their steps.

After reaching Captain Ronan, the four anxiously waited for the single rider to arrive. Eowyn had a firm grip on her husband’s hand, tapping her foot in nervous anticipation. Faramir rubbed a soothing hand along her back, but it did little to calm her nerves, or his for that matter. Soon, the rider rushed through the doors in much the same manner as the squire had. He quickly regained his composure, straightening his back and bowing his head.

“Captain, my Lord, my Lady,” he acknowledged before getting straight to the point, “Prince Legolas was found gravely wounded. The few of us escorting him left this morning. He is on his way now to the Houses of Healing along with the civilian woman who was assisting us. The rest stayed behind to search for the king and young prince who have yet to be found.”

Before the rider had even finished, Eowyn was out of the rooms and dashing towards the Houses of Healing. If Legolas was injured and without his family, then he at least would have a friend.

“Eowyn, wait!” Faramir called, glancing apologetically at the other three men before racing after his distraught wife.

* * *

 

No secret is safe in a city. The moment one person knows it is the moment it becomes common knowledge. So when the riders charged through the streets with their injured prince, it naturally became the topic of everyone’s conversation.

 “Did you see the riders?”

“Was that Prince Legolas with them?”

“It was the prince! I saw his face! He looked mighty pale!”

“What do you supposed happened?”

“I’m not sure. And I doubt we’ll ever find out! They never tell us folk anything!”

“Where was the king? I don’t recall seeing him!”

A man sat alone in a crowded tavern, sipping his ale slowly whilst listening to the other patrons speculate with each other. They had all gathered to discuss the news, greedy for even the smallest hint of a rumor.

“Do you think he’s done it? Do you think he got the boy?”

The man was pulled from his silent observations by the urgent question directed at him. He focused on the older gentleman who took the seat across from him.

“Good evening, Edwin,” he greeted.

“Well? Do you?”

Apparently Edwin wasn’t here for small talk. The man sighed.

“We would know if he had succeeded,” he answered, glancing around the room, “Now keep your voice down.”

“Sorry,” Edwin apologized, leaning back in his seat, “I just hate sitting around here waiting, not knowing what’s going on!”

“We will know soon enough. In the meantime, be patient.”

“Some of us don’t have time to be patient,” Edwin grumbled.

“Well I hope you’ve found enough time to contact your cousin in Rohan?”

Edwin perked up at that. “I have.”

“And what does he say?”

Edwin leaned forward again, getting as close to the other man as he could.

“He’s in.”

* * *

 

By the time Eowyn and Faramir entered the Houses of Healing, the room was a flurry of motion. Healers darted back and forth, grabbing medicines and cloths, while others were shouting instructions. The Steward grabbed the arm of the closest healer, nearly startling the poor girl.

“Where is Prince Legolas?”

“He was taken to the farthest end of the Houses so that he could be sought to in private. Some of us are trying to get a screen set up so that he is out of sight of the other patients.”

“Thank you,” Eowyn exhaled as the couple rushed to their friend.

It wasn’t hard to spot the bed where Legolas lie as he was surrounded by healers on either side. Most of the staff had been charged with focusing all of their attention on their royal patient. Some were holding his legs down, while an unfamiliar woman was working on his shoulder, seemingly trying to extract something from it.

Eowyn gasped at the amount of blood covering the woman’s hands and the prince’s chest. She covered her mouth in shock, watching the horrifying scene unfold. Suddenly, an agonizing scream tore from Legolas’ throat, the healers doing their best to hold his thrashing legs still. Eowyn made to go to him until she felt an arm fall across her chest.

“No, my love,” Faramir said, “We must not get in the way.”

“They’re hurting him!” the lady protested, eyes blurring with unshed tears.

“They’re helping him,” her husband countered.

Defeated, Eowyn hugged onto Faramir’s arm. They flinched at every cry that was wrung from the prince, until finally the elf passed out from the pain. Eowyn was grateful for it. The couple stayed glued to their spots, watching as the end of an arrow was finally pulled free from the Legolas’ shoulder.

“Someone prepare me a yarrow paste!” the woman ordered, “We need to cleanse and treat the wound before stitching it up!”

While a healer rushed off to make the paste, another came forward with a cloth and bowl of water to wash the blood from the prince’s body. Another was preparing a needle and thread. It was then that the young healer whom Faramir had questioned came forward with a tall screen.

“Come, dear,” the Steward said, “The worst is over. Let us allow the healers to finish in peace.”

Eowyn nodded numbly, eyes never leaving the prince’s pale, sweaty face until a screen was placed in front of her, blocking her view. The couple sat on an empty bed a few feet away, waiting until they could ask someone exactly what was going on. A few moments later, the strange woman who had operated on Legolas stepped from behind the screen, wiping furiously at her bloodied hands. She paused when she noticed the noble couple, self-consciously running a newly cleaned hand through her thick, frizzy locks.

“Are you one of the civilians tasked with aiding Fendrel?” Faramir asked, standing to join the woman.

“I am,” she answered simply.

“Is he going to be okay?” Eowyn implored, coming to stand beside her husband.

“He is,” Hadria smiled, “As long as the wound doesn’t become too badly infected, he will be alright. I suspect he will regain full use of the arm, as well.”

Eowyn placed a hand on her chest and let out a shaky breath.

“What happened? Who did this to him?”

“Forgive me if I seem rude, my lady, but could we possibly talk more in the morning? I…I am quite exhausted."

“Of course,” Faramir answered, “You can use one of these free beds for the night.”

“You have my thanks.”

“And you have ours.”

Hadria gave a weak smile before finding a bed to settle in.

“I must go tell the council what has transpired here. I doubt they’ll get any rest until their curiosity is satisfied,” Faramir announced.

“Very well,” Eowyn conceded, “I shall stay here with Legolas.”

“Will you stay all through the night?”

“I will stay until Aragorn comes.”

Faramir sighed, “We do not know if he will come…”

Eowyn drew back, affronted.

“He will come,” she said, “And until he does, I will stay with Legolas.”

“Forgive my pessimism,” the Steward amended, regretting the hurt he brought to his lady’s eyes, “You can stay until he returns. I will join you when I can.”

Faramir gave his wife a light kiss on the cheek before making his way back towards the council rooms. Eowyn watched him go until he disappeared through the doors. Steeling herself, Eowyn went to the prince’s side. His arm was placed in a fresh sling, the shoulder was wrapped tightly. He lay very still on his back, almost unnaturally so. She longed to see the lively elf wholesome once more. She sat quietly on Legolas’s uninjured side, gently taking the cool, damp hand in her own. Legolas groaned, his brow furrowing.

“Aragorn?” he asked weakly, struggling to open his eyes.

“Sshh, my prince,” Eowyn cooed, stroking the hair back from his forehead, “Get some rest. Aragorn is on his way. You shall see him and your son again very soon.”

As the elf succumbed to pained slumber once more, Eowyn sighed, turning to look out of the window that gave a grand view of the vast fields surrounding the city.

“Please be safe, Aragorn,” she whispered to herself, “Hurry home.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much-needed reunion is next chapter!! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? Another chapter in under a week?? What's gotten into me?? :P I thought I'd be nice and give you another chapter for making you wait so long for the last one :) And I'm actually pleased with how this chapter turned out so I hope you enjoy!! Let me know what you think!!

Though admittedly disappointed at finding himself in the same seat he had occupied a few hours earlier, Faramir maintained a composure that was reflective of the seriousness of the gathering. Upon leaving his wife to tend the prince, he had summoned the council once more. As much as he wanted to give Legolas his peace, the lords of the council were entitled to know the condition of their monarch. Plus, as is often the case with those from a privileged class, their intrusiveness meant that they were likely to find out one way or another; so better to let them hear the news officially instead of allowing rumors to fly.

The Steward watched as the lords trickled one by one into the room. Many of them looked as though they had just been awoken, but through their tiredness Faramir could tell that they were eager for information. Once all were seated and the doors were shut, Faramir rose from his chair.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “Do forgive me for calling you here at this late hour, but I have some grave news to depart upon you.”

All the lords eyed Faramir keenly, leaning forward in their seats as they waited for him to continue.

“A few of Fendrel’s men arrived shortly after our last meeting, delivering Prince Legolas to the Houses of Healing.”

The Steward paused as he watched a few mouths fall open in question and eyes widen.

“He had received an arrow to the shoulder. Though by whom and for what purpose we do not yet know. Thankfully, he is expected to recover. The last the riders had heard, the location of King Elessar and Prince Eldarion remained unknown and the rest of the troupe has stayed behind to search.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to absorb what they had just been told.

“This is grave news indeed,” Lord Damrod, a thin man with hazel eyes and sandy hair, disrupted the quiet, “A threat is one thing, and sadly, not that uncommon. But rarely are threats against the royal family carried through. Our culprit is either insane for thinking he can commit such a crime and get away with it or he knows something we do not.”

“Or,” Lord Hallas interrupted, “he does not fear retribution. Perhaps he wants punishment.”

“Why would someone want to be punished?” Lord Ranulf scoffed.

“To send a message, make a point, support a cause,” Faramir provided.

“That would imply that there is something greater going on here than one man committing treason,” Lord Turgen supplied.

“Indeed,” the Steward agreed solemnly, “We were informed when the murder of the guards took place that Fendrel’s female source said our prime suspect had been discussing his plans with a group of men at the tavern. If this is something that they are all in on, we need to know what it is they are hoping to achieve and why.”

“I say we interview more people from the city, such as those who frequent the tavern and those who saw the bodies of our guards. Someone has to know something,” the young Lord Sigurd suggested.

Faramir nodded, “I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.”

“And double the guard,” Lord Thorwald instructed, “If these villains have struck once, there is no doubt that they will try to do so again! Are there guards currently stationed at the Houses of Healing?”

“No more than usual,” Faramir answered with a wince, “I will have more sent there immediately.”

With a nod to the guard stationed inside the council room, Faramir sent the armed man to carry out the orders.

“Well, My Lords, I believe we have done all we can do for the night. I thank you for your input. I shall go about making arrangements with the guard in the morning. In the meantime, I say we all get some rest and I will summon you when I learn more. You are dismissed,” the Steward concluded.

Faramir ran a weary hand down his face once the room was empty. He put on a controlled façade, but in actuality, he was unnerved. Had he known three days ago what all would have happened after the royal family’s departure, he would have begged them to stay. Now, his king was absent, his prince was injured, and he had a feeling that this was only the beginning. With a sigh, Faramir exited the council room, shutting the doors behind him as he made to join his wife for the night.

* * *

 

_“You were born for this, Eldarion. Do not be afraid.”_

_Eldarion followed the sweet sounding voice, weaving between the trees in an effort to keep up with it._

_“Where are you?” he called, his words echoing through the woods._

_“Just a little further,” came the soft reply from somewhere in front of him._

_He ran, spotting a clearing in the distance and eager to get to it. He slowed down as he approached it, an ominous feeling settling in his bones. He thought he heard a warning: quiet voices telling him to stop, telling him to turn back. He closed his eyes, hearing the voices more clearly. He gasped when he realized it was the trees that were talking to him. He looked up at them, noticing how their branches whipped violently even though there was not any wind. He took a step back._

_“Do not be afraid.”_

_There was the voice again. The voice he had been following. He suddenly felt calm the moment he heard it. Courage returning, he stepped forward into the clearing. It was quiet. No trees. No voices. Nothing. It was then that he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He turned. Some feet away, two people were lying on the ground, side by side. Perhaps they were asleep. As he walked closer, the two figures grew increasingly familiar._

_“Papa? Ada? What are you doing?” he called._

_They didn’t answer._

_He started running again. Running until he stood above his parents, whose eyes were closed and lips blue._

_“Papa! Ada! Wake up!”_

_He fell between them, batting on their chests and shaking their shoulders. They didn’t move._

_“It’s better this way. They only would have stopped you.”_

_Eldarion looked around for the source of the voice, but to no avail._

_“Stopped me from what?” he cried._

_“Your destiny.”_

_Suddenly, black mist seeped up from the ground, circling around the bodies of the man and elf. Eldarion drew back with a gasp. The mist grew thicker and thicker until finally it cleared. His parents were gone._

_“No! Don’t leave me!” he wailed._

_“You are not alone.”_

_The voice was whispered in his ear, as if someone was standing directly behind him. Startled, he turned around quickly. No one was there._

_He had to get away. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home._

_He ran again; not knowing where he was heading, but not really caring either. He seemed to run for hours, until he came across a stream. Stopping, he decided that he was in great need of a drink. He fell to his knees and crouched over the rippling water. Instead of seeing his own distorted image reflected back at him, he saw an eye. A red fiery eye._

_“You cannot run from me!”_

_This voice was deeper and sharper than the one before. The water began to boil and steam._

_He covered his ears and screamed._

“Eldarion! Son! Wake up!”

The boy clawed and kicked at the hands that tried to rouse him. It wasn’t until his throat started hurting that he realized he was screaming. Eyes jerking open, he sat up, breathing harshly.

Aragorn could do nothing but stare as his son reoriented himself, looking around camp and taking in his surroundings.  He had had nightmares before, as young children were wont to do, but never one that left him screaming and thrashing. The sound of it had shocked Aragorn into wakefulness along with the rest of the men, some of them drawing their swords in alarm. Touching him in such a state had been the wrong idea, and he had the scratch to prove it. So the man waited, watching as the boy began to calm before locking eyes on his father and throwing his arms around his neck.

“Oh Papa! You’re here!” he sobbed into the man’s collar.

Aragorn tightened his embrace, rocking his son back and forth while he stroked his hair.

“Yes, I’m here. It was just a dream, love. It wasn’t real,” he soothed.

They stayed like that until the crying ceased. Eldarion finally pulled back, not caring as he used his sleeve to wipe at his running nose. Aragorn swiped the lingering tears away from the child’s face with his thumbs.

“Better?” the man asked, looking into red swollen eyes.

The boy simply nodded.

“What did you dream about, son?” he pried, anxious to know what had frightened the boy so.

Eldarion shook his head frantically.

“No!” he said, bottom lip starting to quiver.

“Sshh,” Aragorn cooed, now more worried than he had been, “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Although I think it would be better if you did.”

The boy merely shook his head again before slumping against his father’s chest.

“Very well,” Aragorn conceded, kissing the boy on the head, “Just remember that it was a dream, son. Whatever you saw has not and will not happen. Understand?”  

Eldarion nodded again, but gripped all the tighter when his papa made to pull away.

“Now, now,” the man tutted, “You need to let me go so that we can get ready to leave. We’re going home today, remember?”

The boy let go, eyes shining with relief.

“I can see Ada?!”

“Yes,” the man answered, “We can finally see Ada.”

Eldarion smiled, letting go of his father as the man stood. Though Aragorn didn’t fail to notice that for the rest of the morning, wherever he went, his son was right on his heels.

“Is everything alright, My King?” Fendrel asked as Aragorn approached, eying the young prince warily.

“Everything’s fine,” the man answered, resting his hand on top of the boy’s head, “How soon can we leave?” 

“As soon as you wish. Though may I suggest that the two of you eat something first?”

Aragorn gratefully took the fruit and cheese that was handed to him, reaching down to give Eldarion some. It was then that he noticed Rueben, sitting in the same spot he had been left the night before. He was watching Eldarion, his eyes narrowed and a smirk distorting his face. Aragorn guided his son to stand behind him, the movement causing Rueben to look up at the king. Aragorn gave him a look of warning; daring the man to lay his eyes upon his son again. Rueben only huffed before settling his gaze onto his own shackled feet. Satisfied, the King of Men turned his attentions back to Fendrel who had been watching the exchange.

“The prisoner shall ride back with me, if you have no objections?” the troupe leader inquired.

“I have none.”

“Very well. You and the prince shall have your own horse. My men can pair up if need be.”

“Thank you, Fendrel.”

A few moments later, the camp was completely dismantled and the horses saddled. Aragorn had been given a white horse named Foxtrot which he was now settling Eldarion upon. Once his son was situated, the man leapt up behind him, bringing his arm around the boy’s middle. He watched and waited as the other riders mounted, his eye just so happening to catch that of Moric. The strange man bowed his head before looking away. Aragorn was still unsure what to make of the man. Why would he want to help the royal guard? What did he have to gain? The king would be sure to ask Fendrel more about him later. Now, however, his main concern was making it to Minas Tirith before night fall.

* * *

 

A cool damp cloth was pressed gently to his brow, doing little to lull the pounding in his skull.  Groaning, Legolas tossed his head. He tried to move his arms and legs but failed. _Why are my limbs so heavy_? He slowly opened his eyes only to close them shut as they were flooded by bright light. He tried again, prying his lids further and further apart until his pupils adjusted. Now able to see, he found himself staring at a tall open ceiling made of stone with wooden beams placed throughout. The scent of herbs, both sweet and bitter, filled his nostrils and caused his stomach to churn.  _Where am I? What’s going on?_ Once more, he attempted to rise up, but his body rebelled: stiff limbs stayed put and his head and shoulder throbbed.

“Be still, Legolas,” he heard a feminine voice say, “You are safe.”

He turned his head towards the voice, bleary eyes finally focusing on a familiar face, her brow creased with concern.

“Eowyn?” he croaked, coughing at the dryness in his throat.

Suddenly, a hand was behind his head and a cup held to his lips. He opened his mouth obediently, relishing the cool liquid that relaxed his bothered throat.

“Eowyn,” he tried again, this time sounding more like himself, “What’s happened?”

He felt a cool, slim hand rest atop his own.

“You were shot by an arrow, my prince. You are in the Houses of Healing.”

_An arrow? That explains why my shoulder feels as if it is on fire! Wait…how…?_

It was then that the memory of the past few days came rushing back to him. The trip, the ambush, the running, the archer! He began to panic.

“Where is Aragorn?” he demanded, “Where is my son?”

He struggled to move. This time he succeeding in propping up on his good elbow and slinging a leg off of the bed.

“Legolas, please! You must lie still! Your body needs to recover!”

“Where are they?” he pressed, ignoring the woman’s pleas, “I need to see them!”

“Legolas!”

That voice was new. The elf turned around to see Faramir approaching him.

“Faramir! Where is my family?”

The Steward placed a firm hand onto the prince’s unbound shoulder, guiding him back down to lie on the bed.

“You need to calm yourself, Prince Legolas. Sit back down and I promise I will answer your questions,” the Gondorian stated.

Legolas lowered himself back onto the pillows, wincing as the stinging in his shoulder increased tenfold. Eowyn and her husband shared a worried glance as the lady made to take the prince’s hand into her own. Legolas accepted the gesture, squeezing the slim fingers until his pain became more tolerable. Opening eyes he didn’t know he had shut, the elf looked between the Steward and Lady expectantly.

“To answer your question, King Elessar and Prince Eldarion have not yet made it back to the city,” Faramir began.

“What?” Legolas exclaimed, cursing as tears began to pool his vision and his heart began to race.

“You were brought to us last night in haste because of your injuries by members of the guard. They saw that you made it here as quickly as possible so that you could be treated. Your husband and son are traveling with the rest of the guard as we speak. They will be here soon.”  

Eowyn shot her husband a confused look. _Why was he saying this? He did not know that to be true!_

The Steward silently pleaded that his wife not question him, giving her a brief glance and shaking his head. Yes, he was lying. But he did not want to worry Legolas while he was in such a state.

Legolas only seem slightly appeased by this, but before he could press further, Hadria drew near.

“Forgive my intrusion,” she said with a bow of her head, “but I’ve brought some soup and tea for the prince. I am sure you must be hungry and the tea will help with the pain.”

Eowyn took the items from Hadria’s hands and sat them on the table next to the elf.

“I know you,” Legolas said, eying the woman curiously, “You found me. But you are not a healer of this house…”

“No, Your Highness. I am not,” she admitted.

“Then what are you doing here? Why did you help me?”

Hadria blinked a few times, mouth opening wordlessly as she glanced over at the Steward.

“On the day you left, My Prince,” Faramir interceded, “two guards at the gate were murdered and the killers were presumed to be following you. Hadria and her companion suspected that they knew who the culprits might be and they were assigned to help the guards in their search.”

Legolas remained silent, staring down at his bare feet at the foot of the bed.

“We were followed,” he finally spoke, “A group of men approached our camp.”

The three visitors gave the elf their rapt attention.

“I ran with Eldarion. Aragorn stayed behind to fight. Two of the men tracked me down. I was able to kill them but not before…” he gestured to his shoulder, “I left Eldarion in a tree. And I don’t know what happened with Aragorn,” he jerked his head back up to meet Faramir’s gaze, “You say that they are on their way back now? You are sure of this? They were found unharmed?”

Faramir looked away, the fear in the prince’s eyes preventing him from telling the same lie twice.

“Faramir? Tell me!” Legolas begged, starting to rise again.

Eowyn laid a hand on the elf’s chest but it was shoved aside. Before Faramir had a chance to speak or Legolas to move, Hadria rushed up beside the prince, a cloth in her hand. Bracing herself, she pressed the cloth to the elf’s nose and mouth and held it there.

“What are you doing?” Eowyn shouted.

Legolas took a lungful of stale acrid air. He tried to push the woman’s arm away but he found himself growing increasingly fatigued. Within seconds, he was asleep.

“You, Miss, have overstepped your bounds!” Faramir scolded.

“I thought it better to ask forgiveness then permission, My Lord. We both know he was becoming too overwhelmed for his own good. This will merely put him to sleep for several hours more and prevent you from having to lie to him again.”

Faramir stared at the woman. He knew her words to be true but he appreciated neither her boldness nor her method.

“I would like to continue that conversation you ended last night. In private,” he requested, though he could tell she knew it to be an order.

“Of course.”

“Meet me in the Council Room after supper tonight. A guard will escort you,” he instructed.

Hadria nodded.

“And in the meantime,” Faramir added, “I must ask you to not touch the prince again.”

“I understand, My Lord.”

“I will see about setting up a room for you in the guest quarters. I’m sure once the prince is healed and the king has returned that they would like to speak with you as well.”

“As you wish.”

With a final kiss for his wife and a last look at Legolas, the Steward left the houses to meet with the Captain of the Guard; he had plans to set in motion.

* * *

 

Just as the sun was beginning to set, Faramir left the dining hall in route for his meeting with Hadria. He almost invited the rest of the council to attend this questioning but decided otherwise. He thought the woman may be less intimidated and more inclined to speak if there were fewer people scrutinizing her. Then again, Hadria was the type who seemed very sure of herself – she had proven that earlier. Thinking back to the incident in the Houses of Healing, the Steward recalled how unsettled he had felt. Had poison been on that cloth instead of a sedative, Prince Legolas could have died. Luckily, that was not the case, but it did not mean he had easily accepted Hadria’s actions. In fact, he could still have her punished for them if he so chose.  He was actually entertaining the possibility. But at the moment, he needed her cooperation and he felt she’d be more willing to give it were she not under the threat of arrest.

When he entered the room, he wasn’t surprised to find that Hadria was already waiting, occupying the seat that was normally occupied by the spry Lord Sigurd.

“Good evening,” he greeted formally.

“And to you, My Lord.”

He sat across from her with the intention of keeping this discussion intimate. Upon initial observation, he noticed that the woman did not appear to be nervous; her eyes were serene and her body composed. On the contrary, she looked very serious and attentive as if she were looking forward to the talk that was to come.

Faramir took a deep breath, ready to start his inquiry, when he was interrupted by a case a déjà vu. The same squire from the day before burst through the doors, panting like a dog.

“Sire!” he breathed, “Fendrel and the rest of his men are at the gates! The king is with them!”

Faramir rose, nearly knocking his chair behind him. He noticed Hadria had stood as well.

“Is the king well?” he asked anxiously.

“It appears so, sire. Both he and the young prince!”

_Eldarion!_

Relief washed over the young Steward, his shoulders loosening from a tension he had held for four days. _All members of the royal family were back within the city._

“I’m afraid this conversation must be delayed once more,” Faramir addressed the woman across from him, “A guard will escort you to your rooms.”

Without waiting for a reply, Faramir left the room in a rush, the poor squire on his heels.

* * *

 

Aragorn ignored the stares and gasps of his people as he raced through the streets of Minas Tirith. He couldn’t imagine what they must have thought seeing their normally calm, put together king all sweaty and battered, riding horseback with an equally sweaty and battered boy in his arms. The former ranger was used to it though – he’d spent many years of his life neither looking the cleanest nor smelling the freshest. Something Legolas had always loved to tease him about. It seemed that no matter how hard the prince exerted himself or how much filth he encountered, he always emerged unsullied, smelling as crisp and green as the woods he loved so well. _Prissy elf._ He imagined that even now, though wounded and fevered, the elf looked much better off than he. _At least he desperately wished it so_. He could not bear the thought of his dear prince looking broken and blemished.  It was for that very reason that he decided during their long ride that he was going to first see Legolas alone, without Eldarion. Until he knew for sure just what condition the elf was in, he didn’t want their son to see him; didn’t want to scare or traumatize him any further. He just didn’t know how he was going to tell the boy this, especially after promising him that he was going to see his Ada today.

The king’s ponderings came to halt as the entourage approached the royal stables.  He was not surprised to see his Steward and Captain of the Guard rushing to meet him. While keeping a steadying hand on Eldarion, Aragorn dismounted before pulling the sleepy boy down with him. He stroked his horse’s neck in gratitude and then handed the reins to a nearby stable boy. 

“King Elessar,” Faramir hailed, “Seeing you safe within these walls is a relief to us all.”

“Faramir!” a childish voice exclaimed, before the Steward felt a familiar pair of small arms wrapped firmly around his legs.

He laughed and crouched down next to the boy, taking in his dirtied clothes and tired eyes.

“It is good to see you to, Little Prince,” he whispered.

Aragorn took a good look at the Steward as he greeted his son, regretting the stress that was so clearly etched on the other man’s face. He knew Faramir must have had a lot to deal with in the midst of all this chaos.

“It is good to be back, Lord Faramir,” the king began as the Steward stood, “And I know that we have much to discuss, but for the time being, I have personal matters that I must attend to immediately.”

“Of course, My King,” said Faramir, understanding the king’s meaning.

It was then that he saw Fendrel approaching, dragging behind him a callous looking man in shackles. Aragorn followed his gaze then turned back to the Steward.

“That would be our culprit,” he ground out, and Faramir was surprised by the raw anger he heard in the man’s voice.

Aragorn turned to Ronan, “See to it that he finds his ways to the dungeons.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the Captain, before drawing his sword and marching behind Fendrel.

Aragorn watched them go, lost in his troubling thoughts until a gentle tug to his hand brought him back to the present. He looked down to see Eldarion staring up at him expectantly.

“Faramir, could you take Eldarion to Tilly please?” he asked the Steward, “He is in great need of some good food and a hot bath.”

“It would be my pleasure, sire.”

“No!” the young prince protested, “I want to see Ada!” 

He crossed his arms defiantly and glared at his papa, holding his stare as the man crouched in front of him and grasped his shoulders.

“You will see your Ada, son. I promise. I just need you to clean up first. Can you do that for me, please? Surely you don’t want to see him whilst covered in filth? You know how he despises bad smells,” he jested, causing the boy to smile.

 “Then you need a bath too, Papa!” the boy teased.

Aragorn chuckled.

“I know. And I shall. You go with Tilly now and I’ll come later and take you to see Ada. Deal?”

“Okay,” the boy reluctantly agreed as Aragorn gave a kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you,” the king said as Faramir took the boy’s hand and began walking him inside.

_Now, I need to see my elf._

* * *

 

As Aragorn reached the Houses of Healing, he was pleased to see that it was being guarded extensively. It was nice to know that his husband was being protected while he wasn’t there to do it. The guards immediately stepped aside when they noticed the king, bowing their heads in respect. He dashed passed them, causing some curious stares from the handful of healers and patients nearby. One came up to him cautiously.

“Your Majesty, Prince Legolas is in a private bed in the back.”

_Bless that woman!_

 “Thank you!” Aragorn breathed, startling the healer as he took her hands in his before moving in the direction she had pointed.

She blushed as she watched him go. It’s not every day one is shown gratitude from the king.

It wasn’t long until Aragorn came upon the screen behind which was his husband’s bed. He paused, needing to collect himself both physically and emotionally before reuniting with the one person who owned his heart and soul. It was then that a soft humming reached his ears, the sound of it feminine and melodic.  The longer he listened, the more he recognized it to be a lullaby from Rohan. His heart nearly leapt to his throat at the sight that greeted him as he stepped around the screen. On the small bed lay his Legolas. His cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue and his pale chest was bare. His shoulder was bound in white cloth, his arm nestled in a sling. His eyes were closed, long dark lashing resting atop his cheeks. And he was still. Too still.

Beside the elf sat Eowyn, she had a comb in her hands and was gently running it through the prince’s shiny hair as she hummed a tune. She stopped when she noticed Aragorn standing by the screen.

“Lord Aragorn!” she gasped, a smile brightening her face at seeing the king returned.  

The king however, did not reply. He simply stood, unable to draw his eyes away from the figure on the bed.

“He sleeps,” Eowyn continued, “He awoke earlier. He was asking for you.”

“How is he?” the king asked, his voice faint.

“He is in pain,” Eowyn answered truthfully, “But he should recover just fine.”

Aragorn nodded mutely.

The Lady of Rohan placed the comb on the bedside table before rising to stand next to the king. She lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

Aragorn placed his hand on top of hers. He gave her a small smile, letting her know how grateful he was that she was there for Legolas.

She returned the smile, giving the prince a final glance before disappearing behind the screen.

Now alone, Aragorn moved to take the spot Eowyn had vacated. He took the elf’s free hand within his own, bringing it to his lips. He shuddered at how cold the digits felt. He gently stroked his face, running his finger over a welt that had formed under the prince’s eye. It was a strange sight. In all the years he had known this elf, he’d never bore witness to a mark upon his face. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t belong. He cursed whatever it was that had caused it.

He stayed in that position for a few precious moments, simply touching Legolas, running his fingers along his arm, neck and face, reassuring himself that he was here and alive. As he brushed aside some unruly strands from his forehead, the elf groaned. Aragorn paused in his ministrations, watching as soft blue eyes fluttered open.

As Aragorn’s face came into focus, Legolas blinked and then blinked again, telling himself that this had to be a dream.

“Aragorn?”

Aragorn saw the flashes of confusion, hope and doubt that crossed his husband’s visage. Stroking the elf’s hair once more he answered,

“Yes, _meleth nin_. I am here.”  

Legolas stared at him in disbelief, searching the beloved face he had been missing for three days, until finally he furrowed his brows and drew his mouth into a frown.

“You’re late,” he said weakly, “And you look terrible.”

Aragorn let out a relieved laugh, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his husband’s lips before resting their foreheads together.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

“I was so scared, Aragorn,” Legolas confessed, “I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again.”

Aragorn drew back to see a few tears roll down the elf’s cheeks. He kissed them away.

“I feared the same, my love,” the king admitted, “But we are here now. We can put all those doubts behind us.”

Legolas nodded, freeing his hand from Aragorn’s hold so that he could brush it along his bearded cheek. Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening as he stared at his husband.

Aragorn froze as well, his heart pounding.

“What is wrong, _A'maelamin_?” he asked urgently.

“Where is Eldarion?” the elf demanded, his eyes frantic.

Aragorn closed his eyes and let out a relieved sigh, kissing the hand that was still pressed to his face.

“Worry not, _Mela en' coiamin_. Our son is well. He is getting a long overdue bath as we speak.”

“Thank the Valar,” Legolas breathed, “You found him.”

“Actually, it was he that found me,” Aragorn revealed, remembering that moment in the woods when he had heard Eldarion calling his name.

A crease formed on the elf’s brow and his voice trembled when he spoke.

“He must have been so scared. I did not mean to leave him.”

Aragorn shook his head.

“Ssshhh. It was not your fault, Legolas. You did what you had to in order to keep him safe.”

“Why did this happen, Aragorn? Who were those men?”

“I am not certain,” the man admitted, “We shall figure it all out together; once you are healed.”

Legolas nodded before closing his eyes, this brief conversation draining him of the little energy he possessed.   

“You need more rest,” Aragorn stated.

“I don’t see how that is possible,” the elf grumbled, “I have slept all day.”

Aragorn smiled at his pouting spouse.

“I wish I had had the luxury of being as lazy as you,” he teased, “I have ridden all day to hurry back to you and I am quite exhausted.”

Now it was Legolas’ turn to smile.

“Then you must join me, _herven_ ,” the elf said, “Let us rest together.”

“I do not wish to stir your wounds,” the king said softly.

Legolas shook his head lightly.

“Nay, it would heal my wounds to have you beside me, _meleth.”_

Aragorn sighed in resignation. He could not deny his elf anything. Methodically, he removed his cape and his boots, aware of the pair of eyes that watched him.

“It appears that you have your own wounds, Aragorn,” the elf said, his voice full of concern, “You should have them tended to.”

“They are not so serious,” the man said as he gently lay down upon the bed, careful not to move Legolas too much, “All I need is to hold you in my arms.”

With his husband’s help, Legolas managed to turn onto his uninjured side and rest his head on the man’s shoulder. Aragorn ran his calloused fingers through the elf’s silky hair, breathing in his clean, earthy scent.

“ _Amin mela lle_ , Aragorn,” the elf sighed.

“ _Amin mela lle_ , Legolas.”

Quicker than either of them cared to admit, the pair drifted off into a deep sleep; feeling safe and content in the others’ arm for the first time in several days. They relished the moment while they could, both knowing such moments might not exist in the days ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Man and Elf together once more! But is this just the calm before the storm??
> 
> I'm not sure how many of you also read my other story "While You Were Dancing," but if you do, I just wanted to inform you that I'm updating that one next :)

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: (correct me if I'm wrong)  
> Meleth - Love, Lover, My Love  
> Herven- husband  
> Amin hiraetha - I am sorry  
> Ada - daddy  
> ion-nin - son, my son
> 
> So far so good? Should I bother continuing it?? Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated!


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